


Absolution

by dracosoftie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:01:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23879578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracosoftie/pseuds/dracosoftie
Summary: Draco and Harry return to Hogwarts after the war, both struggling with their own issues. Their unlikely friendship blooms into more but is torn apart by circumstances outside their control. Warnings for slash, language and explicit sexual content.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 191





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm porting many of my fics over from fanfiction.net, where I was active in the fandom from 2008-2012.

**October 1998**

“Mr. Potter, honestly. I thought perhaps you and Mr. Malfoy had put these rivalries behind you.”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. He didn't know how he could convince her that this wasn't all a plot to mess with Malfoy. Hell, Harry Potter helping Draco Malfoy? It sounded far-fetched even to  _ him _ . 

“Listen, professor, I know this sounds bad. But I’m asking you to put us in detention for Saturday. Just for the morning, just until the intramural Quidditch try-outs are over.”

McGonagall looked at Harry over the rims of her wire spectacles, her thin lips pursed tightly.

“I understand why you would want to skip the try-outs, Harry, but you can’t deprive Mr. Malfoy of his opportunity to play Seeker for the team simply because you don’t  _ want _ him to do it,” she said, her tone heavy with disapproval.

“It’s not like that!” Harry protested. He sighed, sinking back into the comfortable wing-backed chair that had replaced the stiff wooden ones Professor Dumbledore had favored back when this had been his office. “I don’t know why Malfoy doesn’t want to play, I just know that he doesn’t. Please? If I can get him to agree, will you give us the detention?”

McGonagall watched him for a long moment, her tight bun bobbing slightly when she finally came to a decision and nodded.

“Alright.  _ If _ Mr. Malfoy agrees to this ridiculous plan of yours, I will set a detention for the two of you for Saturday morning.”

Harry grinned, relief evident in his troubled green eyes. The Headmistress had disbanded the House system for the school year, claiming that the students would benefit from not being divided by arbitrary lines. That was how Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor seventh year class, who had dubbed themselves “eighth years” because that’s what they technically were, had come to be sharing the former Hufflepuff dormitory with the older Slytherins as well as the third year Slytherins and Gryffindors and half of the new first years who had started Hogwarts that year.

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry said, giving McGonagall a mock bow that made her laugh.

***

“It’s going to be epic,” Ron said, waving a fork laden with eggs in the air as he spoke. Hermione smacked him on the arm, glaring at him until he lowered the fork to his plate. “Well, it will be.”

“The whole point of the intramural Quidditch matches was to promote unity among the students, Ronald,” Hermione hissed, her eyes narrowing when Ron rolled his. 

“I don’t mind being unified, I just wish McGonagall’s idea of unity didn’t include forcing us to play nice with the snakes,” he said, forking his eggs into his mouth and chewing loudly. “And we  _ are _ all going to be unified … behind  _ Harry _ as our Seeker.”

“It’s hardly as though  _ we’re  _ overjoyed by the situation, Weasley,” Pansy sniffed from her seat halfway down the bench. She shuddered as Ron opened his mouth to speak, showing the entire table his half-chewed eggs.

“Really, Ron,” Hermione groaned, sounding pained. 

“S’rry,” he muttered, swallowing quickly. “I didn’t say you  _ were _ , Parkinson. McGonagall’s a nutter for sticking us all together. It’s a miracle no one’s been killed.”

While it was true that several minor Hexes – and even a few fist fights – had broken out over the last three weeks in their dorm, no large-scale riots had broken out. The newly formed house, which had been given the almost ironic name Venia, was located in the former Hufflepuff dorm. McGonagall had hoped the Latin word for forgiveness would remind the students that the war had ended and the time for healing had begun, but so far, the only thing keeping the two factions from tearing into each other had been the complete and total disinterest of two of their leaders: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.

Both boys had refused to be drawn into the petty fights between the two former houses, leaving their peers wondering how two of Hogwarts’ most bitter rivals could suddenly proclaim not to care a whit about the other.

“I just meant that the two of them will be at each other’s throats during Quidditch try-outs. It’ll be nice to see, I reckon. It’s just –” Ron wrinkled his nose, searching for the right word. “–  _ unnatural _ not to have Harry and Malfoy fighting.”

“It is not unnatural,” Hermione said with a hint of censure in her voice. “You would do well to follow their example. Last week you had  _ four _ detentions for fighting, Ronald. Four!”

Ron shrugged.

“Zabini had it coming,” he muttered, turning his attention to the rasher of bacon on his plate.

“And so did Astoria Greengrass, then? And how about Eloise Midgen? And Jimmy Peakes? All they did was walk past while the two of you were dueling.”

Ron shrugged again, sinking lower in his seat on the bench. He’d already had a Howler from his mother for landing three innocent students in the Infirmary during his last fight with Zabini, he hardly needed to hear it from Hermione as well.

“Would you just leave off, Granger?” Blaise yelled from his spot further down the table. “Merlin on a crutch, I don’t even  _ like _ Weasley, and even  _ I _ think he could do better than a harpy like you.”

His comment, predictably, set a flurry of hexes and insults flying up and down the Venia table, which continued until the Headmistress herself waded into the fray and confiscated all of their wands. Through it all, only two of the table’s occupants remained uninvolved; Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, sitting at opposite ends of the long, scarred table, heads down as they concentrated on the books in front of them, seemingly oblivious to the chaos erupting all around them.

***

Harry shouldered his book bag, hastening his steps so he could catch up to the long-legged blond in front of him.

“Malfoy,” he whispered, raising his voice a bit when the other boy didn’t respond. “Hey, Malfoy!”

Draco sighed, looking back over his shoulder at the messy-haired teen trailing along behind him. He’d known this unspoken truce with Potter had been too good to be true. He was only back at this ridiculous excuse for a school because his Ministry probation had mandated it; he’d rather be at home, studying his seventh year with a tutor and taking the N.E.W.T.s early, like Theo Nott was doing. Of course, Theo Nott didn’t have a Dark Mark, and that was all that seemed to matter these days. He rubbed at the slightly-faded tattoo absently, allowing the other boy to pull him into a dark alcove.

“Listen, Malfoy, I know you don’t want to play Quidditch this year –”

“Is that what this is about, Potter?” Draco sneered, unaccountably relieved that the former Gryffindor wanted to taunt him about Quidditch instead of hexing him into oblivion or calling in his life debt, which Draco had been waiting for him to do since term started. “You want me not to try out so you are assured of your precious spot on the team? Fuck you.”

Harry growled, his fingers tightening painfully on the strap of his bag. 

“ _ No _ ,” he said, his jaw tightening. “You are such an arse. I overheard you asking Madam Pomfrey for a note saying you weren’t well enough to play –”

“Spying on me, Potter?” Draco drawled, cold fear blossoming in his chest. If the other boy suspected why he didn’t want to play and spread around the reason – 

“Would you just shut up?” Harry hissed, wondering why he was even bothering trying to help the blond. The memory of how desperate he’d sounded when he’d been appealing to Madam Pomfrey for help, though, strengthened his resolve.

“Listen. I don’t know why you don’t want to play, Merlin knows it looks like you were  _ born _ to fly, but I heard you, Malfoy. You sounded desperate to be given a reason  _ not _ to try out,” Harry said. When the blond didn’t move to interrupt him again, he continued. 

“I don’t want to play either. Quidditch – it’s just not important anymore. A lot of things aren’t important anymore. But Ron–” Draco snorted, and Harry grinned slightly. “Ron doesn’t get that. He’s been so excited about the intramural games that there was no way I could tell him that I don’t want to play.”

Draco looked at the dark-haired wizard appraisingly, as though seeing him in a new light. The fact that the great Harry Potter might not want to play Quidditch or join in the other pursuits the rest of the rambunctious Gryffindors he’d been lumped in with this year enjoyed, well, that was a surprise.

“So? I assume you have some master plan that will save us both, then, oh vaunted Savior?” Draco sneered, but the barb was lacking the heat Harry remembered from years past. 

“I do,” Harry said, a wicked grin curving his lips. 

***

Harry waited until the end of Double Transfiguration to make his move. He had only given Malfoy the barest of details about the plan, since an honest reaction out of the blond was crucial. McGonagall had just finished inspecting everyone’s saplings, and the class had fallen into the bored malaise that usually overtook the longer lessons toward the end of the period. 

They were working on fairly advanced magic, Transfiguring pencils into live saplings. Most of the class had done well, with the exception of Pansy Parkinson and Ron, whose saplings had ended up with leaves the consistency of eraser rubber. They had all been given half a dozen pencils to continue experimenting with as homework, and Harry made sure to knock Malfoy’s off the table as he shoved his chair back while packing up his own materials.

“Watch it, Potter,” Malfoy snarled, grey eyes flashing. 

“Watch yourself,  _ ferret _ ,” Harry replied, sneering at the fuming blond.

“Who are you calling a ferret,  _ scar head _ ?”

“Better to have this scar than that monstrosity,” Harry hissed, leaning forward and yanking Draco’s sleeve up, exposing the Dark Mark.

“Fuck you, Potter!” Draco roared, lunging over the table that separated them and tackling the dark-haired boy.

After that, the class’ recollections of what happened differed greatly. Blaise Zabini would later swear he saw Potter use a Dark hex to split Draco’s lip. Neville Longbottom claimed that Malfoy had used one of the pencils that had fallen to the floor to stab Harry. Ernie MacMillan, who wasn’t even  _ in _ the class, gleefully reported that he’d seen both bruised and battered boys being given Skele-Gro in the infirmary. 

No account of the fight, however, left any doubt that both Malfoy and Potter definitely deserved the harsh detention the Headmistress had given them. Even Ron, who had been named captain of their intramural Quidditch team, couldn’t fault McGonagall for banning the two boys from the upcoming try-outs.  _ He _ swore he’d heard Harry break Malfoy’s wrist, which was only fair, since he also reported the blond had broken Harry’s nose.

Professor McGonagall herself wasn’t even sure which of the myriad of stories floating around Hogwarts about the now infamous Malfoy/Potter brawl held the most truth. She’d pulled them apart, not one hundred percent positive the fight was faked, and sent them to the infirmary, but Poppy had brought them back to her office just minutes later, claiming she hadn’t found a single injury on either boy.

Since she herself had seen their bloodied fists, she could only conclude that Harry had put his extracurricular Healing lessons to good use in some darkened corridor between the Transfigurations wing and the infirmary. Still, since both boys had sworn up and down that, though it had looked nasty, the fight had been completely faked, she’d had no reason to assign them a detention on top of the one Harry had already asked her to set for them. She did, however, fully intend to oversee their detention personally, just in case.


	2. Chapter 2

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Draco sighed, pushing his homework away. Pansy had been clinging to him ever since his return from the Headmistress’ office, and nothing he said seemed to convince her he bore no lingering ill effects from his fight with Potter.

“You should be asking Potter that,” Blaise snickered, casting a glance across the room, where Ginny appeared to be trying to frisk the dark-haired wizard, no doubt searching for injuries. “Most of the blood was his, anyway.”

Draco couldn’t help but snicker at Blaise’s words. He  _ had _ gotten in a few rather good shots, but Potter had held his own. He had the bruises on his ribcage to prove it.

“But, Draco,” Pansy pressed, oblivious to the way the blond’s jaw tightened in annoyance. She lowered her voice and leaned in closer, her dark hair almost touching his. “He touched your Mark. I  _ saw _ the look on your face. Did it hurt terribly?”

She rubbed at her own arm sympathetically, despite the fact that she’d never been initiated into the Dark Lord’s circle. Among their Hogwarts brethren, that dubious honor had only fallen to Draco, Vincent and Greg. The Mark had been forced on Draco by his father, a desperate bid to show his own loyalty to Voldemort and keep his position as lieutenant. Vince and Greg, however, had joined willingly. Draco suppressed a shudder as he thought about his old friends, one of whom was dead and the other of whom was locked away in Azkaban.

“The Mark, Draco,” Pansy repeated insistently, tugging on his left arm. He recoiled at the touch, tucking his arm closer to his chest.

“It’s fine,” he hissed, glaring at her. Blaise muffled a laugh with his hand, his knowing look making Draco flush.

“It was  _ not _ fine. I saw you, Draco. Potter touched it and you –”

“Drop it, Pans,” Blaise said, fixing the witch with a stern look that stopped her mid-sentence. She sighed, letting the other boy change the subject. 

“So, who do you think will take Seeker now that Draco and Potter are out of the running?” he asked casually, and Draco jumped on the lifeline. He knew Blaise would question him mercilessly later, but it would be worth it if they could divert Pansy now.

“Well, Harper will probably go out for it,” Draco said, tapping the end of his quill against his lips thoughtfully. “He’s decent. The spot will probably go to the she-weasel, though.”

Blaise nodded, looking over Draco’s shoulder at the knot of former Gryffindors gathered near the fireplace where the willowy redhead and her boyfriend were holding court. 

“Well, she  _ is  _ the captain’s sister,” Pansy sniffed, glaring at the back of Ron’s head. He, Hermione and Harry had settled into an alcove in front of the large bank of windows after Ginny had finished examining Harry for injuries.

“I hate to say it, but she deserves the spot,” Blaise said ruefully.

He smirked when the would-be Seeker in question turned, apparently feeling the heat of Pansy’s glare and his appraisal. Ginny quirked an eyebrow at them challengingly, making Blaise wonder if there was more to her than her Gryffindor goody-goody reputation belied. Her boyfriend, on the other hand, glared menacingly at them, and Ginny rested a pale, slim hand against his chest when he would have jumped up.

“Gryffindors,” Blaise sneered, turning back to his homework.

“Former Gryffindors,” Draco corrected absently, licking his thumb and using it to turn the paper-thin page of the supplemental Charms reading he was engrossed in. 

He didn’t notice Blaise’s small smirk at his words or the way Pansy’s nose wrinkled with distaste.

“Whatever.” Blaise rolled his eyes, returning his attention to his own enormous stack of homework. 

***

Harry managed to fall into a fitful sleep sometime after 2 a.m., his Potions notes spread around him on his bed. His fight with Draco had been on his mind as he drifted off, as well as the conversation he’d had with Ginny after dinner about her strategy for Seeker try-outs.

He whimpered out loud when a familiar nightmare began. Harry twisted on the bed, clawing at his sheets as they twined around him, restricting his movement. In his dream, his arms were being restrained by the team of Snatchers, Greyback’s hungry yellow eyes watching him interestedly, his fetid breath against Harry’s cheek. 

The scene dissolved into Malfoy manor, and Harry broke out into a cold sweat as Draco’s face filled his mind, pale and terrified, recognition clear in his grey eyes even as he lied and said he didn’t know who Harry was. The images picked up speed after that, flashing from Hermione’s screams of pain to Dobby’s outstretched hand to Colin Creevey’s lifeless body and Fred’s staring, dead eyes.

He reached a hand out when Ginny stepped into view, looking fragile and angry and absolutely gorgeous as she demanded to fight alongside him. Harry mouthed the words he’d used that night, reliving the moment. Instead of leaving her, though, dream Harry found himself pulling Ginny into his arms and capturing her lips in a desperate, searing kiss. Soft, pliant lips responded eagerly, molding to his as he deepened the kiss, opening his lips and allowing her tongue entrance, trying to fill the emptiness inside him.

Harry groaned, flipping onto his stomach and rutting his burgeoning erection against the soft mattress. In his dream, he mirrored the motion against Ginny’s hip, his arms wrapped around her, keeping her close. Harry’s eyes snapped open when he realized this couldn’t possibly be Ginny, who was a full head shorter than he was. Instead, he found himself staring directly into tortured grey eyes. 

Harry gasped, frotting harder against dream-Draco’s thigh, a shudder running through him when he brushed against the outline of the other boy’s erection. Far from feeling disgusted at finding himself in Draco Malfoy’s arms, Harry felt his arousal surge, a thrill running up his spine as Draco bridged the gap between them once more and claimed his mouth in a brutal kiss. 

Harry pressed himself harder against the mattress, his aching cock rubbing against the smooth sheet as he pistoned his hips faster and faster. His climax crashed over him in hot waves, his orgasm bringing him out of the last vestiges of sleep and leaving him awake, panting and spent, arms that had been wrapped around Draco moments earlier in the dream now clutching his pillow instead.

Harry blew out a breath, wincing when he noticed the cooling patch of sticky come underneath him. He rolled to the side, taking a moment to gather his wits before Summoning his wand and casting a Cleaning Charm on the bed, adding another to his sweaty body after a bit of consideration. 

He collapsed back against the mattress, glaring weakly at the pillow he’d nearly crushed beyond recognition. He threw the offending piece of bedding against the wall, staring at the ceiling as he caught his breath. The nightmare had started as it normally did, but the bit with Ginny – and then  _ Draco _ – was new. 

Harry sighed. He’d known he was attracted to men for awhile. Both men  _ and _ women, actually. He truly had been attracted to Ginny, but after the war it had been clear that she couldn’t offer him what he needed. She was still grieving for her brother and couldn’t deal with Harry’s grief and guilt as well. He didn’t begrudge her that. After Ginny there had been a random Muggle in a club over the summer, a frenzied mutual wank that had left him with more questions than answers about his sexuality. 

Ginny had actually been the one to spot his confusion and speak frankly about it with him. As strange as it had been to have  _ that _ conversation with his ex, Harry was glad that he had. Ginny had told him about the Wizarding world’s views on sexuality, which were much different than the Muggle world Harry had grown up in. He’d heard his uncle rail against the unnaturalness of homosexuality hundreds of times, but Ginny assured him there were no such prejudices in the magical world. It had set Harry’s mind at ease to know that his sexuality wasn’t just another manifestation of his propensity to be different. 

Still, he hadn’t told anyone other than Ginny that he found himself attracted to men as well as women. And there certainly hadn’t been any wizards he’d felt that kind of attraction for, though he’d felt a spark of  _ something _ while he’d been rolling around on the floor of the Transfiguration classroom with Draco earlier that day.

Harry growled, tossing back his sheet once again and climbing out of bed. There was no way he was going to get back to sleep after that dream. He may as well go for a fly.

***

Harry woke the next day feeling refreshed, despite the fact that he’d only gotten two hours of sleep after his disturbing dream and subsequent early morning fly. He blamed both on being overtired. The last few weeks had been a gigantic game of catch-up, since the professors were not cutting students any slack in their coursework. The result was that the oldest students were forced to spend hours every night revising so they didn’t fall behind on the current lessons, which built on things that had been taught in sixth year. For many of the returning eighth-years, those lessons had been long forgotten.

He stretched, blinking slowly and letting himself swim lazily back to consciousness. The only perk to their “eighth-year” status was the fact that, unlike the lower years, they each got their own room in the dorms. It was cramped and badly lit, but Harry didn’t care. Even though he ended up spending most of his time out in the common room or the library with his former Housemates, the tiny room was a welcome retreat. Not having to share his space with anyone else was brilliant.

“Are you up?”

He laughed out loud as Ron beat on his door, giving himself one more languid stretch before hopping to his feet and grabbing a pair of denims and a T-shirt off his floor. He donned them quickly, running a hand through his hair to attempt to tame it as he crossed the room to open the door.

“Am now,” he said with a yawn.

“Hermione sent me to tell you to get a move on. Your detention with McGonagall starts in twenty minutes.”

Harry nodded. He didn’t think Professor McGonagall would particularly care if he was late, but he definitely didn’t want Ron to know that. Try-outs started in an hour, and with any luck, they’d be over before his detention ended. 

“Thanks, mate,” he said, taking his towel off the hook on the back of the door and heading toward the showers. 

“Ginny’s down at breakfast,” Ron called after him. “She said she’d bring you something.”

“Great,” Harry answered before he ducked out of sight into the bathroom.

***

The Headmistress’ resolve to supervise Harry and Draco’s detention lasted for forty-five minutes, ending abruptly when a third-year burst into her classroom with reports of a brigade of students launching an exploratory mission in the lake in search of the giant squid. Harry couldn’t help but laugh as Professor McGonagall tore out of the room with a stern admonition to behave themselves. He found the absurdity of the school’s most legendary rivals being left alone in a detention they’d received for fighting amusing. 

“I guess this must mean she’s decided I didn’t  _ really _ break your nose,” Draco smirked, twirling his quill between his fingers, making it dance from one end of his knuckles to the other. 

Harry rubbed at his nose, remembering the very real punch Draco had landed. Of course, that had been right after he’d split the blond’s lip with an elbow to the face, so he could hardly be upset about it. 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, putting aside the notes he’d been taking on his Defense Against the Dark Arts reading. He walked to the windows, craning his neck so he could see the Quidditch pitch. It was impossible to make out who the tiny figures were, but from the looks of things, the intramural try-outs were still underway.

“Jesus Christ! That took some balls.” 

Interested, Draco wandered over. Harry’s attention was riveted on a player that had to be Ginny Weasley, diving and feinting across the pitch with breathtaking skill. He instantly regretted joining Harry at the window, his palms turning clammy as his heartbeat raced. He turned away, unable to watch the death-defying tricks the flyer was orchestrating.

“What’s the matter? Can’t handle the fact that Ginny can fly circles around you?”

Draco’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his eyes squeezing shut since he knew the other boy couldn’t see him. 

“Just not interested,” he said, forcing the words past his dry throat.

“I knew you didn’t want to play, but I didn’t realize you’d lost interest in Quidditch altogether,” Harry said conversationally, still watching Ginny gracefully swoop through the air. 

“I haven’t,” Draco snapped, sliding into his seat before his knees could give out, memories of the last time he’d been on a broom flooding his mind. 

“So it’s just that it’s Ginny, then?” Harry asked, his tone heating. “I thought you were over all that, Malfoy. Can’t root for a blood traitor, eh?”

Draco took a deep breath, fighting to remain calm. Harry’s words barely registered through the haze of panic that had settled over him.

Harry swirled around to confront the former Slytherin, but stopped when he saw how pale the other boy had become. Concerned, he hurried over to him, kneeling on the floor near his desk and running a hand across his clammy brow.

“Get off,” Draco growled, swiping at Harry’s hand.

Harry let him brush his hand aside, drawing his wand instead. He cast a few quick spells before Draco jumped up, pushing him away.

“Your pulse is racing and your blood pressure’s too high,” Harry said, tucking his wand back into his wrist sheath. “How long have you been feeling poorly? You seemed alright a few minutes ago.”

Draco glared at him, running a hand through his hair, leaving the locks uncharacteristically mussed. Harry felt a pang of something he couldn’t describe run through him at the sight.

“I’m fine,” he said tersely, collecting his books and storming toward the door. His hand shook as he grabbed for the handle, a tremor of fear running through him when it wouldn’t open. He tried again, a whimper slipping past his lips as his attempts became more frantic.

“Calm down, Malfoy,” Harry said, approaching him carefully, his hands held out to show he wasn’t carrying his wand. “McGonagall locked us in when she left, remember? We’re in detention, and she didn’t want us skiving off early.”

Draco bit his lip, trying to control the waves of panic that were threatening to overwhelm him. He closed his eyes, leaning against the door for support, struggling not to hyperventilate. He shoved a hand into the pocket of his robes, muttering a low curse when he realized he’d left his room without grabbing a Calming Draught from his stores.

“Malfoy, here,” Harry said, handing him the paper bag from the pastry Ginny had brought him from breakfast. When the blond failed to take it, Harry held it up to Draco’s lips. “Breathe. It’ll help you calm down.”

Dubious, Draco breathed into the bag, his nausea rising as he inhaled the too-sweet scent of the pumpkin pasty. He clawed at Harry’s hands, trying to knock the bag away from his face.

“It’ll help,” Harry insisted, wrapping his free arm around Draco’s waist and tugging him to the floor. Draco let himself slide down the length of the door, guided by Harry’s arms. He stopped fighting as they settled on the floor, instead slumping against Harry slightly, comforted by the warmth of the other boy’s body.

Harry held him for several minutes, relaxing himself when he felt the tension start to ebb out of the blond. When his breathing returned to normal, Harry let the bag drop, but kept his arms loosely draped around him. 

“Nice trick with the bag,” Draco said hoarsely, making no move to scoot away from Harry.

Harry shrugged slightly, suddenly self-conscious. He was essentially cradling the other boy against him, both of their backs resting against the heavy wooden door. 

“Does that happen often?” Harry asked, glad their position didn’t allow for eye contact. He kept his gaze locked on his shoes, studying the scuff marks on the leather. 

“You mean do I make a habit of completely losing the plot in front of random strangers? No.”

“I didn’t mean – you didn’t ‘lose the plot’, Malfoy,” Harry stammered. “You had a panic attack. Do you take something for them? A Calming Draught or Stabilis Potion or something?”

“Are you implying I need potions to manage my moods?” Draco snapped, pulling away from Harry’s arms.

“No. God, Malfoy, it was just a question. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with needing a potion now and again.”

Draco laughed humorlessly, embarrassment staining his cheeks a light pink. Harry looked over, instantly wishing he hadn’t. The blond looked rumpled and shaky and absolutely gorgeous. 

“How do you know about the Stabilis Potion, anyway? Is the Wizarding world’s Boy Wonder dosing himself up to get through the day?”

Harry shrugged, his own cheeks heating with a slight flush. He looked down, busying himself with drawing a few basic runes in the dust that had settled in the unused corner near the door.

“I had a few bad panic attacks during the trials,” Harry said, focusing on the outlines he was drawing. He knew Draco would know what he was talking about, since one of the Death Eater trials he had testified at was Draco’s own. “I’m allergic to lavender, though, so I can’t take Calming Draughts. Madam Pomfrey had me on Stabilis Potion for awhile, but I didn’t like how groggy it made me.”

Silence settled on the classroom, both boys caught up in their own thoughts and embarrassment. Harry tensed, wondering why he’d shared that with Draco Malfoy, of all people. Even Ron and Hermione hadn’t known about his panic attacks. He couldn’t help but fear they’d think less of him if they knew what a hard time he’d had dealing with the aftermath of the war. After all, they had seen the same things he had – hell, Ron had lost a brother – and  _ they _ hadn’t needed potions to help them function. 

“It’s the coriander,” Draco said quietly, breaking the silence. “I substitute orange blossom for it when I brew. It doesn’t disrupt the calming properties of the potion, but it eliminates the haziness.”

Harry nodded, letting the tacit admission that Draco  _ did _ take the potion slide by without comment. 

“Is that how you knew about the bag thing?” Draco asked, curiosity finally outweighing his mortification at falling apart in front of an audience. The only other people who knew about his panic attacks were his mother and Blaise, and he’d managed to keep their severity – and frequency – from even them.

“No,” Harry said, obliterating his designs with his palm and then wiping the dust on his denims. He hesitated, finally deciding he may as well show his entire hand, since he’d already told Draco more about himself than even his best friends knew. What was one more secret? “Actually, I read about it. In one of my textbooks.”

Draco looked up, puzzled. Harry used his wand to Summon his bag, pulling out a thick text titled  _ Entwhistle’s Guide to Basic Healing and Anatomy _ . Harry bit his lip, his trepidation showing in his eyes as he waited for Draco’s reaction.

“Healing? Really?” Draco asked, tilting his head as he looked from the large volume to the boy holding it. “I can see that, I suppose. Aren’t you and the Weasel short-listed for Auror Academy, though?”

Harry snorted, tucking the book back into his bag. It was true that both he and Ron had already been accepted into the academy, pending passable N.E.W.T. scores. They’d never  _ asked _ him if he planned to pursue a career as an Auror though. Even Ron had simply assumed it was what he wanted, when really nothing could be further than the truth. He’d seen enough death and destruction during the war; he didn’t want any part in the Auror Corps after they left school.

“Yeah. I’ve been apprenticing with Madam Pomfrey since this summer, though. She thinks there’s a good chance I can get accepted into St. Mungo’s Healer training program if I can ace my Potions N.E.W.T.”

Draco studied him for a moment, wondering why Harry was sharing this with him. It sounded like not even his friends knew about his intentions. He was oddly touched by Harry’s trust in him.

“I could tutor you.” The words were out of his mouth before they’d registered in his brain. Had he really just offered to help Harry Potter study Potions? What on earth had gotten into him?

“You’d help me?” Harry asked, his green eyes widening with surprise and delight. Draco felt something stir inside him at the knowledge that he’d put that look on the dark-haired boy’s face. 

“Why not?” Draco asked, shrugging negligently, as though he hadn’t just offered to add another task to his already full schedule. Still, the prospect of spending more time with Harry more than made up for the time his own studies would lose. “I’m in the class, too.”

Harry’s shoulders drooped a bit.

“I’m still catching up on potions from sixth year,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d be holding you back –”

“I don’t mind,” Draco said quickly, his eagerness embarrassing him. “I mean, I doubt you’re that far behind. It won’t take that much to catch you up, not if you had a study partner.”

Harry regarded him curiously, wondering how the hell they’d ended up here, sitting inches apart on the floor of McGonagall’s classroom, plotting how to combine their revision time tables. He jumped when he felt the wards the Headmistress had put on the door fade a split second before the door opened, sending them sprawling into the corridor.

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” she chided, stepping over them. “Go ahead, then. You’ve wasted enough of your Saturday.”

They stared at her, not moving from their jumbled pose on the floor.

“Potter! Malfoy! Go,” she said, waving her hands at them, shooing them away. “Go, before I change my mind.”

Harry grinned, grabbing his bag and scrambling to his feet. He paused for a second, his smile growing as he offered his hand to Draco, helping the blond up as well. McGonagall’s shocked expression made both of them laugh. 

“See you around,  _ Draco _ ,” Harry said, putting emphasis on the other boy’s given name. 

A smile curved Draco’s lips, and he nodded before dashing into the classroom to grab his own books. 

“See you around, Harry.”


	3. Chapter 3

**November 1998**

It took several weeks of joint study session before Harry gathered the courage to ask Draco about his panic attacks again. Harry’s Potions marks had been steadily increasing, and he found himself looking forward to spending his nights in a quiet corner of the library with Draco, their heads bent over their homework. It had started with them meeting twice a week to work on Potions revisions, but it had somehow progressed to spending most nights sharing a study carrel working on homework of all sorts. 

Harry relished the fact that he could speak freely about his Healing studies with Draco, bouncing ideas for potions therapies off of him and just talking through difficult case studies. He’d found that Draco had an interest in the pharmacological aspects of Potions research, and the two of them had spent more than a few nights working together on ideas for how to tweak some of the more common potions to increase their efficacy.

Their newfound friendship hadn’t gone unnoticed throughout the school. Their study sessions and general camaraderie had been the talk of the Great Hall for the first week, but now they had become just another part of Hogwarts’ landscape. No one, not even their friends, who had initially been skeptical of the seemingly mismatched alliance, bothered to question them about it any longer. Ron had even taken to sitting in on their Potions tutoring sessions, which had endeared Draco to Hermione, since she had little patience for the redhead’s thick headedness.

So it was with quite a bit of hesitation that Harry finally broached the subject, fearful of upsetting Draco, who had become his near-constant companion. They’d talked about most aspects of their lives, but anything to do with Draco’s panic attacks or the war had been instinctively off-limits.

He waited until they’d finished their assignments for the night, figuring that no matter how the conversation ended, neither of them would feel up to more homework. He’d even had the house-elves bring them a snack – chocolate cake and tall glasses of milk, Draco’s favorite. That, paired with the fact that Harry had suggested they study in his room instead of the library or common room, should have tipped Draco off that Harry was planning something, but he’d been too caught up researching the possibility of using ginger root as a preservative in potions to notice. He’d gotten the idea during one of their Healing study sessions, when Harry had been complaining about the short shelf-life of most Healing potions, which made it difficult for Healers to have the right ones on hand for quick use.

“So, I’ve been thinking about our detention,” Harry said, pushing the last bite of his cake around the plate with his fork. 

Draco looked up, his tongue darting out to lick at a bit of chocolate on his lip. Harry lost his train of thought, his attention drawn to the blond’s mouth. 

“Detention?” Draco prompted, making Harry blush.

“Er, right,” Harry said, tearing his attention from Draco’s chocolaty lips. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to bring it up, but you’ve been … better, lately, so I didn’t know if I should.”

Draco nodded slowly. He’d been waiting for this conversation for weeks. 

“I forgot my Stabilis Potion that morning,” he said, carefully watching Harry for his reaction. Had a flicker of disappointment flashed through his eyes, or was he just imagining things? 

“Oh. Well.”

A small smile curved Draco’s lips. Harry was so adorably transparent. 

“I haven’t taken it for the last week. Things feel – I don’t know, more manageable? – lately.” He was heartened by the way Harry’s expression brightened. It gave him hope that he wasn’t the only one who thought there might be more than just friendship between them. “Thanks to you, I think.”

“Me?” 

“You,” Draco confirmed, his heart skipping a beat when Harry’s face lit up. “Being with you takes some of the sharper edges off, you know? Things feel – almost normal. Like they did before.”

He was certain Harry  _ did  _ know. He’d seen the way the former Gryffindor had seemed distant from his own friends at the start of the term, his eyes often haunted by things that were probably far worse than the memories that kept Draco up at night. His own smile dimmed a bit, though, when he thought back to their detention and his panic attack. If they were really headed down the path he hoped they were, Harry had a right to know.

“It was the Quidditch try-outs,” he said, looking down so he didn’t have to meet Harry’s eye. “The flying, actually. I haven’t flown since that day in the Room of Requirement.”

Harry didn’t need further explanation. Their nightmarish escape from the Fiendfyre featured prominently in Harry’s own nightmares, though he often responded by taking a midnight flight to clear his head. Obviously Draco’s reaction was just the opposite, if it had put him off flying entirely.

“Don’t you miss it?” Harry couldn’t help but ask, tilting his head as he tried to imagine life without the freedom flying represented.

“No,” Draco said a little too quickly, a wistful note in his voice. “I don’t. It’s too – I just can’t.”

He looked up at Harry, grey eyes begging the other boy to understand. The torment Harry saw in them closely mirrored in his own reflection at times. The sorrow. The regret. The longing. The guilt. More than anything, the guilt.

Harry nodded, letting the subject drop for the moment, content with the blond’s admission that being with Harry helped him forget the horrific events of the past year. He felt the same way, which surprised him, since Draco featured prominently in some of his worst memories. Still, the blond was a calming presence in his life that not even his closest friends could offer. When he was with Draco, he wasn’t Harry Potter, he was just Harry. His fame meant nothing. His accomplishments, which truthfully were more luck than skill, meant nothing. More importantly, his  _ guilt _ meant nothing, since Draco Malfoy was one of the only people in the world who could truly understand the burden he carried because the blond carried a similar weight on his own back.

“Sure, I get that,” Harry said easily, falling heavily back against his bed and breaking eye contact with Draco, leaving the other boy sitting propped against the headboard, trying to keep his composure. “How about that Charms exam yesterday, eh?”

***

Ron slid onto the bench beside Harry, reaching over him to grab a platter of bacon. Harry rolled his eyes and continued sipping on his tea, tuning out Hermione’s shrill lecture about manners and decorum. He didn’t know why she bothered, to be honest. It was obvious the reprimands fell on deaf ears, since Ron’s behavior never changed. He watched her switch tactics, scooting closer to the redhead to start in on reminders about homework and upcoming exams. 

Harry popped the last piece of his cinnamon roll into his mouth, humming softly when the sweet flavor burst over his tongue. Draco always smelled slightly of cinnamon and vanilla, and it made him wonder if he’d taste this delicious. He grinned to himself, swallowing his bite and gathering his books so he could be the first one to Herbology. He had a favor to ask Neville, and he didn’t want an audience.

It had been two weeks since Draco’s confession that he was too scared to fly anymore. They’d shared a few more of their fears and nightmares, but the blond had refused to talk about what had happened in the Room of Requirement again. Harry had caught him watching a group of third-years playing a game of Broom Tag outside the Charms classroom the day before, though, and his expression had been one of longing rather than fear. Harry figured that meant it was time to make his move.

After lunch the next day, Harry strode purposefully into the common room, his own broom and the one he’d borrowed from Neville in hand. It hadn’t taken much to convince Neville to lend him his, especially since it had only been flown three times since the Firebolt Corporation had sent it to him as a gift for his contribution to the war. Hermione, Ron and Harry had gotten similar gifts, though Hermione had given hers to Ginny, claiming people were meant to fly in planes, not on brooms. 

Spotting his quarry, Harry quickened his step, knowing the element of surprise – and public spectacle – was his only hope.

“Ready to go?” he asked brightly, propping the brooms against the wall next to Draco’s chair. He tossed the old Slytherin Quidditch leathers he had draped over his arm to the blond, sending a wink of thanks in Blaise’s direction. 

“What? Where?” Draco sputtered, his eyes wide and unblinking as he looked at the old uniform in his lap.

“Flying, remember?”

Pansy’s squeal of delight cut off whatever scathing rejoinder Draco had been phrasing. He paled as the entire room turned to see what had the dark-haired girl so excited.

“You haven’t been in ages! We should all come down and watch. Maybe you and Potter can play a Seeker’s game!”

Draco felt like his tongue had swollen to fill his mouth. A cold sweat trickled down his spine, and he had to struggle to keep his breathing even.

“Potter’s mistaken,” he said, barely able to keep the tremor out of his voice. “We made no such plans.”

“Didn’t we?” Harry asked, scratching his head. He shrugged, grabbing the brooms. “Well, I already have all the stuff, and the pitch is free this afternoon. May as well take advantage.”

“We could all play a pick-up game!” Ron grinned enthusiastically, pushing his unfinished essay away from him. “It’d be brilliant! I could –”

“ _ You  _ can sit here and finish your research,” Hermione hissed, thrusting a stack of books at him. “Have you forgotten what Professor Flitwick said? If you fail this essay, you won’t be allowed to continue the class. You’re too far behind.”

“I’d best work on that as well,” Draco said, heart thundering in his chest as he met Harry’s eye, silently begging him to let it drop.

“You’re finished,” Pansy said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger as she jotted a note down on her own essay. “You had me revise yours last night, remember?”

Draco could have screamed in frustration. Harry  _ knew _ why he didn’t fly. Why was he doing this? He held the unwavering emerald gaze for a few seconds longer, finally giving up. If he continued to protest, people would start to wonder why didn’t want to fly, especially since everyone knew how keen he’d been on it before last year. 

“Alright, fine,” he said tersely, pushing his chair back from the table and grabbing the broom handle Harry held out for him. 

“Excellent we can –”

“I think we should stay back,” Blaise said smoothly, cutting Pansy off. He leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I heard Bill Weasley’s brother is coming by for a visit. Figured you’d want to be around for that.”

Pansy’s smile turned wolfish. One of the benefits to having Bill Weasley as their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, aside from the fact that he actually knew what he was talking about and gave interesting lessons, was that his younger brother, Charlie, often stopped in to see him. Pansy had set her sights on him shortly after the war, and there was no way she’d pass up an opportunity.

Harry, having just barely been able to make out what Blaise was saying, smothered a laugh. It was true that Charlie  _ was  _ coming to see Bill today, but Harry knew she didn’t stand a chance – Charlie had been seeing Oliver Wood for the better part of a year, which was part of the reason why he’d been able to visit Bill so often here at Hogwarts. Apparently Pansy hadn’t noticed that the visits coincided with home games when the Puddlemere Keeper was in starting line-up, a fact he doubted had eluded Blaise.

Several other eager students moved to follow them when they left the common room, making Draco sick with dread. He could keep up the façade that he was going for a fly easily enough, but if they came out to the pitch, they’d see the truth: That Draco Malfoy could just as soon sprout wings as he could get on a broomstick and fly.

“I haven’t flown in months,” Harry lied smoothly, shaking his head and signaling the other students to stay. “I doubt I’m in any shape to even lap the pitch, let alone play a Seeker’s game. Wouldn’t be any fun to watch. Some other time, eh?”

Draco growled slightly at Harry’s promise, but felt a wave of relief when their would-be audience ducked back into the common room, leaving just the two of them to continue the silent trek to the pitch. It wasn’t until Harry veered left instead of right at the fork in the path that would have led them to the pitch that Draco finally spoke.

“Thank Merlin. I thought you were serious,” he said, trailing after Harry as the other boy made his way toward the stables.

“I am.” Harry looked over his shoulder, giving Draco a rakish grin. “I just figured you wouldn’t want to do this on the pitch, where anyone could walk by. Hagrid said we could use the meadow behind the stables. It’s where he trains the Thestrals.”

Draco’s jaw clenched, his stomach dropping. “You told –”

“I didn’t tell him anything. I wouldn’t. You know that,” Harry interrupted, tossing his broom over the tall wooden fence that blocked off the meadow and then scaling it, dropping neatly to the ground on the other side. “I’ve been coming here to fly all term. He caught me sneaking out to fly over the Forbidden Forest one night when I couldn’t sleep. After he finished tearing into me for being reckless, he gave me permission to fly here.”

Draco stared at him for a moment, digesting what he had said. He hadn’t known Harry had trouble sleeping, nor had he known he’d been sneaking out to fly. It made Draco wonder just exactly how the dark-haired boy had managed to sneak out without him noticing. He rarely slept much himself anymore, and his room was right off the common room. He’d have heard the door open and close if Harry had exited that way.

“I, er, have a window?” Harry said with a sheepish grin, correctly following Draco’s thought process.

Draco’s expression turned gobsmacked. 

“We all have windows,” he said slowly, handing his broom absently to Harry as he climbed the fence himself, too caught up in what Harry was implying to realize he was following along. “The common room has windows, too. And since we’re in the dungeon, they all open to the  _ lake.” _

Harry shrugged. It had taken some adjustment, getting used to living in the dungeons. All traces of the Hufflepuff emblem and colors had been removed, replaced with neutral décor and small touches of both crimson and silver, a nod to the former Slytherins and Gryffindors who now made up the Venia House. All in all, the dormitory’s common room wasn’t that different form Gryffindor; it had the same large fireplace, squashy sofas and cold, stone floors. It even had the same large, arching windows, except they had a view of the ethereally lit lake instead of the scenes of the Hogwarts grounds that could be seen from Gryffindor Tower. The first time Harry had seen a Merperson swim by his bedroom window he’d nearly hexed it out of sheer instinct. But after he’d learned a few good artificial lighting spells and to always –  _ always _ – draw his curtains when he was naked, he’d come to actually appreciate the unconventional view.

“You just need a good containment charm to hold the water back long enough to get the window open and shut and a Suspiro potion to make it to the surface,” Harry said, picking up his broom and trudging through the tall grass. “You expect me to believe no Slytherin ever did that to sneak out in your old dungeons?”

Draco studied Harry, seeing him in a new light. To his knowledge, no one had ever even  _ considered  _ sneaking out through a window. To do so was a plan so simple as to be brilliant. He was so caught up in analyzing Harry’s underrated Slytherin side that he didn’t even notice Harry had mounted his own broom. It wasn’t until the other boy nudged him, hovering at waist-level next to him, that Draco remembered why they were there.

“No way,” he said, shoving Harry away. The dark-haired wizard butted up against him again, one eyebrow quirked in challenge. “That won’t work. You already know I don’t care what you think. I’m not flying.”

Harry grinned, leaning forward on his broom and putting on a burst of speed, shooting ahead of the furious blond. He wheeled around, hovering a few meters off the ground directly in front of Draco.

“You  _ do _ care what I think,” he said matter-of-factly, inching his broom closer when it became clear Draco wasn’t moving forward. 

“I don’t,” Draco insisted, his feet planted a shoulder width apart on the ground, chin raised defiantly.

As he flew closer, Harry could see a mix of emotions flutter through his stormy grey eyes, everything from hurt to anger to longing. The first gave Harry pause, but the last bolstered his resolve to get Draco on a broom. When they’d talked about Draco’s fear of flying, it had been clear to Harry how much the blond missed the freedom of being in the air. Harry couldn’t imagine not flying; it was one of the only things in his life at the moment that was uncomplicated and easy. Though lately he’d felt that way when he was around Draco as well, a feeling he hoped Draco shared, or else Harry would likely get hexed for his plan.

He landed the broom in front of Draco, hopping off gracefully. Summoning all of his courage, he gripped the broom handle tightly, stepping up so he was nearly nose-to-nose with Draco.

“You do.”

“I  _ don’t _ .”

Harry closed the tiny distance between them, his pulse thudding in his ears. Grey eyes widened in surprise, and Harry was mesmerized by the way his nearness made Draco’s pupils dilate and his breath hitch.

“You do,” Harry said, cutting off Draco’s response by covering his lips with his own.

He’d intended to shock Draco into compliance, but he very nearly forgot his plan when the blond began to enthusiastically return the kiss. Desire bubbled in his belly as he felt Draco’s tongue glide along his lower lip, demanding entrance. Harry obliged, maneuvering himself onto the broom without breaking the kiss. The moment the handle nudged its way between Draco’s parted thighs, though, the blond jerked violently, cracking his forehead against the bridge of Harry’s nose. Harry gasped in pain, the sound not quite loud enough to mask the crunch of bone.

“Shit! I’m sorry!” Draco reached forward, pushing Harry’s hand out of the way to examine his nose, which was now bleeding freely. He fumbled for his wand, tapping it against the quickly bruising flesh and muttering an incantation that Harry was all too familiar with. 

With another sickening crunch, Harry’s nose re-set itself. He swallowed thickly, grimacing at the flow of blood that was still trickling down his throat. Determined not to let a broken nose distract him from his master plan, he tightened his grip on Draco and pushed off, slowly maneuvering them into the air.

“What were you thinking?” Draco chided, so caught up in ministering to Harry’s nose that he hadn’t realized they’d taken flight. 

“That you wouldn’t respond to me kissing you by breaking my nose?” Harry said sourly, intent on keeping Draco’s focus on him and not the broom. “Guess I judged that one wrong.”

“I  _ didn’t _ respond to you kissing me by breaking your nose, you dolt! I responded to you kissing me by  _ sticking my tongue down your throat _ . I was talking about the  _ broom. _ ”

Harry smirked, wincing when the motion made his healing face ache. 

“Wait. Did you only kiss me to try to distract me enough to fly? Because that’s – ”

“No, I kissed you because I wanted to. The distraction was just a bonus,” he said, his gaze flickering to quickly-receding ground as he continued to guide the broom up. He didn’t want to push Draco too much by flying too high, but he also wanted to be high enough off the ground that when the blond noticed they were in the air he didn’t just jump off.

“Just a bonus! So you admit you were trying to distract me.”

“Yes. Though I suppose I should have recalled how much you enjoy breaking my nose when I thought up the plan,” he said, wrinkling the appendage in question as he spoke as though testing Draco’s healing prowess. 

“I don’t enjoy breaking your nose,” Draco said, casting a Cleaning Charm to get rid of the drying blood on Harry’s face. 

“Could have fooled me. Last week? Sixth year?” 

Draco rolled his eyes.

“You have no one to blame for that but yourself,” he said. “If you’d done a better job sneaking around, I wouldn’t have had to break your nose. I couldn’t let you get away with it, not when Vince and Greg knew you were there as well.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow, clearly dubious.

“It’s true! I did you a favor. If it had been one of them, a lot more than your nose would have gotten broken.”

“Sure. And then covering me with the cloak so no one could find me? That was part of ‘helping me’ too, was it?”

Draco frowned.

“Harry, there were Death Eaters stationed all through Hogsmeade, all with orders to capture you by any means. If I’d left you there without the cloak, you’d have been a sitting duck,” he said, suddenly looking more sincere than Harry could ever recall seeing him. It was clearly important to him that Harry believe what he was saying. “If I’d really wanted to hurt you, I’d have told them you were there. Or I’d have told the Dark Lord about your cloak. I didn’t. I wanted you to be safe.”

Moved by Draco’s earnestness, Harry leaned forward, pressing his lips against Draco’s for the second time. He was careful not to lose control of the kiss, though, lest it result in them crashing the broom. When Draco snaked an arm around his back, fisting in the material of his T-shirt, Harry broke the kiss. He tightened his grip on the blond, scooting back slightly on the broom so there was a bit of space between them.

“We’re flying,” he said quietly, flicking his glance down at the broom handle and the sky below it. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco scoffed, gasping when he followed Harry’s gaze. He waited for the familiar tang of fear to flood his mouth, but it never came. Instead, all he tasted Harry’s slightly spicy, chocolaty flavor, which was still lingering in his mouth from their first kiss.

“We’re flying,” he echoed, his voice trembling with shock and joy. For the first time since Vince’s death, he was in the air, and it was fabulous. Harry had managed to replace his last memories of being on a broom – terrifying memories full of fear, death and fire – with the memory of their first kiss. Draco’s chest felt as though it might explode, every nerve singing with elation. “We’re flying!”


	4. Chapter 4

Harry’s next few days were a blur of studying, classes and stolen kisses with Draco. With the craziness of midterm exams and the start of the intramural Quidditch matches, they hadn’t had a chance to go flying again, but Harry was thrilled that Draco seemed excited about the idea of trying a solo flight. 

The kisses they’d shared were still burned into his mind, but neither boy was confident enough to take it a step further. Harry found himself startled by the intensity of his attraction to the blond, which far outstripped the feelings he’d had for Cho or Ginny. He felt like he was on fire every time they kissed, and even when they weren’t together, Draco was always on his mind. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced, but he was reluctant to confide in anyone. Telling someone about his feelings for Draco would make them too real, and since he had no idea if the few kisses they’d shared meant anything to the other boy, he wasn’t willing to examine what they truly meant to him.

“Knut for your thoughts,” Ginny said, sprawling on the sofa next to him and scattering his Potions notes, which had been spread out over the cushions.

“Argh!” He pushed ineffectually at her in an attempt to retrieve the parchment she was now sitting on. “Shove off, you cow.”

Ginny smirked at him, dutifully rolling so he could free the paper she’d landed on. Harry retrieved his crumpled essay, smoothing it with a spell.

“So, have anything to tell me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

“No,” Harry said sullenly, trying to put his papers back in order.

“No?” She leaned forward and tugged his collar to the side, exposing a small hickey. “What’s this, then?”

“Gin!” he hissed, batting her hand away. “It’s nothing.”

She snickered, settling back against the sofa cushions. 

“This nothing, is he just a little bit taller than you? Pale skin? Grey eyes? A delicious smile?”

Harry looked scandalized. 

“Not ringing a bell yet?” she asked with mock concern. She pretended to think a bit. “Blond hair? Broad shoulders? An arse that –”

“Gin!” Harry clapped a hand over her mouth, stopping her from continuing.

She laughed, shoving his hand away. 

“Did that ring any bells?” she asked with a wink. Her eyes widened when Harry blushed. “Ooh,  _ has _ he rung your bell?”

“ _ Ginny _ !” he whispered, his eyes narrowed dangerously. When she didn’t wilt under his glare, he sighed in resignation. “Fine. Not here, alright? Let’s go to my room.”

Ginny squealed in triumph, jumping up from the sofa and sending his neatly organized piles back into disarray. Harry groaned, gathering everything up into a jumbled heap and stuffing it into his bag. He set off for his room with Ginny hot on his heels, drawing a questioning look from Draco, who was playing chess in front of the fireplace with Theo and Blaise. Harry shook his head slightly, and a small smirk played over Draco’s lips as he settled back against his chair and continued his game.

Harry dismantled his wards, stepping back to let Ginny walk through first. She wrinkled her nose at the piles of clothes heaped on the floor, stepping over a tray of half-eaten sandwiches and several empty bottles of Butterbeer. 

“ _ You’re _ the one who wanted to talk,” Harry said sourly, tossing his bag into the corner and flopping on his unmade bed. The protection spells he set on his room prevented even house-elves from entering, which was a small price to pay for privacy and peace of mind.

Ginny looked around, still disgusted. 

“Does  _ he _ come to your rooms when they look like this?” she asked, putting heavy emphasis on the pronoun. 

“ _ His  _ room looks even worse than mine, so yes, he does,” Harry said, propping his hands behind his head. 

“I’ve just been concerned about you,” she said, absentmindedly tidying his mess as she spoke. He didn’t stop her as she stooped to pick up the shoes that were haphazardly strewn about the floor, tossing them inside the half-open armoire in the corner. 

“Concerned about me? Why?” He sat up a bit, watching her clean. When she moved to start piling dirty laundry into a basket that was half-full already, he spoke up. “Wait. Those are clean.”

She rolled her eyes, perching the basket on her hip and opening his chest of drawers, tucking the clean clothes inside without bothering to fold them. 

“Well, not so much concerned as worried,” she said, pulling a pair of black cashmere sleep trousers out of the drawer. “Ooh, are these new?”

“They were a gift from Fleur for my birthday,” he said, laughing as Ginny stroked the soft fabric, holding them up against her own body. “You can have them.”

“Seriously?” 

“Sure. I don’t wear them anyway.”

Ginny rubbed the cashmere against her cheek, her eyes closing at the feel of the luxurious fabric against her skin.

“Why not? They’re gorgeous,” she said, still fingering the cloth. 

“Guess,” he said, waggling his brows suggestively. 

“Are they too – oh my God,” she said, her eyes widening. “You sleep naked.”

“Got it in one,” he said, enjoying her embarrassment. 

“That’s –” she averted her eyes from his rumpled bed. “Wow.”

Harry laughed, reclining back against the bed once more. He could hear Ginny rustling around, probably still piling his dirty clothes into the basket and straightening the pile of books and notes on his desk. After another minute of silence, she finally spoke again.

“You’ve been different lately,” she said, folding the cashmere sleep trousers and draping them over the back of the chair, her cheeks still tinged with pink. “Not in a bad way. Just, different. Happier.”

Harry sat up, running a hand through his hair and fiddling with his glasses.

“Gin, look – I know after well,  _ everything _ , I couldn’t be there for you like I should have –”

“And I understood, Harry. We all understood,” she said, hesitating before joining him on the bed, her blush darkening a bit as she sat on the sheets. “And god, if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you. I’m glad you’ve found someone you can talk to. I’m just a little worried about  _ who _ that is.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, but Ginny cut him off before he could defend Draco.

“He’s changed a lot.  _ You’ve _ changed a lot. I see the way you two are together – you’re good for each other. I just want you to be sure that whatever you have going on means the same thing to him as it means to you,” she said, slipping her hand into Harry’s and giving his fingers a squeeze. “Because I think it means a lot on your side. Maybe more than even  _ you _ realize.”

“I love you Harry. I love you, and I don’t want to see you hurt more than you already have been.”

The concern in her chocolate brown eyes eased the sting of her words, and Harry’s defensiveness dissolved.

“Gin,” he said, words failing him. He pulled her down next to him on the mattress instead, burying his face in her lilac-scented hair and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She curved around him, enjoying the intimacy that had been missing from their interactions since the war ended. 

“I just need to know one more thing,” she said solemnly, and Harry braced himself for a slight on Draco’s character or an attack on his own judgment. “Is it true he has a Hebridean Black tattooed on his hip?”

Harry choked out a surprised laugh. He and Draco hadn’t done anything more than share a few snogs, so he had no idea whether the blond had a dragon tattoo or not, though he was definitely interested in finding out. 

“Ginny,” he said, sitting up so he could look down at her sternly. “I have no idea, and even if I  _ did _ know, I certainly wouldn’t tell  _ you _ .”

Her eyes sparkled with amusement, a smile curving her lips. She felt better after laying her concerns on the line for Harry. She’d missed him while he’d been distant and reserved, and if a relationship with Draco Malfoy was what it took to bring him back to himself, she’d endorse it wholeheartedly. She knew most of Harry’s friends would agree with her. The change in the dark-haired boy had been slow but noticeable over the last few weeks, and she hoped the trend continued. 

“A Hebridean Black? Really?” Harry asked, the speculative gleam in his eyes making Ginny roar with delighted laughter.

***

**December 1998**

“That was amazing!” Draco propped his broom against the bank of lockers, gesturing wildly with his other hand. “I had no idea how much I  _ missed _ that.”

Harry grinned, running a hand through his hopelessly windblown hair. He was elated that he’d managed to get Draco back on a broom at all, let alone to play a Seeker’s game with him. They’d spent the last hour in the air, catching and releasing the Snitch again and again until the snowy winter air had chased them inside, their Quidditch leathers frozen stiff.

“Bit rusty, though,” he teased, opening his fist slightly to let the light glint off the Snitch he held in his palm. It fluttered weakly, the soft sweep of its wings tickling his skin.

“Two out of six against the youngest Seeker in Hogwarts’ history is hardly something to be embarrassed about,” Draco sniffed in mock outrage, peeling his tunic off and letting it drop to the floor. 

The blond’s fingers moved to unfasten his trousers, and Harry made a strangled noise. The sound must have been louder than Harry realized, because Draco stopped, his fingers hovering over his fly. He followed Harry’s gaze, distress clouding his mind as he realized he’d exposed his left forearm without thinking. It had been over a year since he’d let anyone see him without a shirt on, but he’d been so exhilarated from their game that he hadn’t realized what he was doing. Being back in the Quidditch locker room had felt so normal, so much like old times that he’d actually managed to forget.

He pulled his arm close to his chest, cradling it against his torso to hide the ugly tattoo that stood out in stark contrast against his pale flesh. When he looked up at Harry, though, he was surprised to find interest, not the loathing or condemnation he’d expected. 

“May I?”

Draco slowly extended his arm, his jaw set tightly as he held his breath, waiting for Harry’s reaction. The Dark Mark was a symbol of everything Harry had fought against and a reminder of everything Harry had lost. The fact that he carried it had given Draco pause more than once, stopping him from urging the other boy to take things further. As much as he wanted a real relationship with Harry, part of him worried he’d be corrupting him by touching him with such soiled, sordid skin.

His eyes locked on Draco’s, Harry slid his fingers up his arm, gently extending it further and fully exposing the Mark. Draco shuddered as Harry’s thumb caressed the skin softly, the ink warming and almost seeming to coming alive at the touch.

Harry’s eyes widened, his mouth going dry at the sight of Draco so obviously aroused by his touch. Cradling Draco’s arm between them, Harry let his gaze drop to the ugly tattoo. He’d seen a fair amount of them, but never this close. Upon further scrutiny, he had to admit there was a certain grace and beauty in the lines of the snake. The stark black ink looked menacing against the pale skin of Draco’s inner arm. The tattoo itself was raised slightly, and it quivered as the rough pad of Harry’s finger traced it.

“Is this alright?” Harry murmured, his finger slowly mapping the Mark as his gaze rose to study Draco’s face. 

“Yes.” Draco gasped quietly as Harry’s exploration continued, his eyes drifting shut at the pleasure of having someone else touch the Mark.

“Is it always like this when someone touches it?” Harry couldn’t help but ask, a niggle of jealousy creeping into his chest. 

“No,” Draco whispered, opening his eyes. Harry’s growing erection surged at the pure lust he saw in the grey eyes. 

“No?” Harry trailed his thumb down to the pulse point in Draco’s wrist, reveling in the feel of the blond’s racing heart, knowing that it had been  _ his _ touch to illicit that reaction. 

“No,” Draco said again, shivering when Harry began to gently knead the fleshy part of his palm, feathering soft touches up his lifeline. “Just you.”

Harry’s brows rose. Aside from their fight in McGonagall’s classroom, he was unaware of ever having touched Draco’s Mark.

“That day in the Room of Requirement,” Draco said softly, seeing the question in Harry’s expression. “When you grabbed me. It was like –” he licked his lips, shame crashing through him. Vince had been  _ dying _ , and he’d been getting turned on by a meaningless touch. “– it was like lightning.”

Harry ghosted his fingers across the Mark again, fascinated by the way Draco’s pupils exploded at the touch. He’d heard the hitch in the blond’s voice, felt how his muscles had tensed at the mention of the Room of Requirement. It must have been hard for Draco, having the memory of his friend’s death tied together with one of pleasure.

“And now?” Harry asked, his voice slightly hoarse with desire and apprehension.

“Now it feels just as good, but less shocking,” Draco said with a self-deprecating smile. 

Harry grinned in return, kneeling at Draco’s feet without releasing his arm. At Draco’s questioning look, Harry merely shrugged.

“I want to try something. You’ll tell me if I hurt you?” Doubt chased away his confident smirk, the trepidation he’d felt earlier returning.

“You won’t,” Draco assured him, even though he had no idea what Harry was planning to do. No matter what it was, though, he was sure it wouldn’t be painful. And even if it was – well, that wasn’t always a bad thing. He doubted Harry was ready for that kind of a confession, though.

Harry nodded, settling himself comfortably on the floor. He hesitated for a moment, then took his glasses off. When he looked up again, Draco’s face was blurry, but he could still clearly see the Dark Mark that he was practically nose to nose with. Steeling himself for a negative reaction from Draco, Harry leaned forward, pressing his tongue to the dark ink.

Draco stiffened, his jaw clenching painfully as he tried to suppress a moan. Harry’s touch faltered, but after another moment of indecision, he continued, tracing along the raised tattoo, following the swooping design of the snake. He grew concerned as Draco’s breathing became more ragged, but before he could pull away again, Draco’s fingers twined in his hair, massaging his scalp. 

“Merlin,” Draco gasped, arching into Harry’s touch. His erection pressed painfully against his trousers, every swirl of Harry’s tongue going straight to his cock.

Harry released his arm, sitting back on his heels. His green eyes were nearly black with arousal, and Draco’s pulse jumped when he saw that the dark-haired boy had been similarly affected. He moved to slide down to the floor, but Harry stopped him with a hand against his knee.

“I want to try something else,” he whispered, his lips curving into a grin. 

Draco was wholly unprepared for what happened next. One minute Harry was kneeling there in front of him, and the next he was bent over Draco’s arm, hissing in what had to be Parseltongue. A white hot bolt of arousal shot through Draco, making him gasp out loud. The snake, which had never done more than wiggle before, was now sinuously stretching, slithering along his forearm. 

Draco swallowed hard, using every ounce of his willpower to keep himself from coming in his trousers then and there. Harry speaking in Parseltongue was undeniably the hottest thing he had ever heard, but coupled with the mind-blowing sensation of having his Dark Mark literally dance on his arm, it was almost too much to bear. 

“Harry,” he groaned, not sure how much more he could take.

Harry looked up, worried at the desperate tone of Draco’s voice. His heart nearly stopped when he saw how wanton the blond looked. Heavy-lidded eyes begging for release, faintly flushed cheeks and lips that were red and slightly swollen from the bite of sharp teeth as Draco struggled to hold back his moans. 

“Fuck,” Harry breathed, not realizing he was still speaking in Parseltongue. 

Draco’s Dark Mark throbbed in response to Harry’s hiss, slithering down his arm and wrapping around his wrist. He didn’t wait to see what it would do next, choosing instead to slide to his knees, coming to rest mere inches from Harry. 

Unsure of what to do next, Harry simply stared at Draco. Harry had wanked dozens of times over the last few weeks to thoughts of Draco, but now he wasn’t sure how to proceed. From the looks of things, Draco wanted this as much as he did, but he had no idea if the blond was any more experienced than he was. Before he could panic any further, though, the other boy closed the gap between them, crushing their bodies together and capturing his mouth in a brutal kiss. 

Harry moaned at the feel of Draco’s cock against his own, only their Quidditch leathers between them. His hips angled forward of their own accord, seeking more friction against the answering hardness. His hands, which had been clenched at his sides, came up to fist in soft, blond hair. He parted his lips when he felt Draco’s tongue caress them, a thrill running through him when the other boy began to explore his mouth. 

Draco hips pressed against Harry’s insistently, setting a rough pace as he frotted against him. He let his hands rove over Harry’s body, cupping his arse. Harry groaned against his lips, his breath catching as Draco’s strong thumbs mapped the curve of his cheeks before hooking into the pockets and using them as leverage to force them even closer together.

Draco crested first, his grip on Harry tightening as he came. Harry deepened the kiss, swallowing Draco’s gasps and cries, his own arousal building even more as the other boy convulsed against him. Spent, Draco broke the kiss, slightly embarrassed that he’d lost control so completely. He leaned against Harry, catching his breath and gathering his wits. After a moment, Harry rubbed against his hip, and Draco laughed at his impatience. He let go of Harry’s pockets, backing up slightly so he had enough room to maneuver as he fumbled with the zipper and buttons on the other boy’s denims, opening them just enough to allow him to thrust his hand inside. 

Harry jolted as Draco’s warm hand wrapped around his aching erection, the old Quidditch calluses on his palm providing a delicious contrast against the soft skin as he began to stroke. Harry bit his lip, squeezing his eyes closed as Draco pumped harder, groaning when the blond dipped his head and began to nuzzle against Harry’s neck, sharp teeth nipping against soft, salty skin. Harry gasped, his entire body shuddering violently as he began to come, wave after wave of pleasure rolling through him. Draco continued to stroke him, milking the last of his orgasm out of him, his tongue now soothing the bite marks he’d made on Harry’s neck. 

“Jesus,” Harry gasped, his legs quivering with the effort of remaining upright. He grimaced, his knees protesting as he shifted slightly, suddenly aware of just how hard the cold, stone floor he was kneeling on was.

“Mmm.” Draco mouthed his way up Harry’s jaw before claiming his lips again in an almost chaste kiss before pulling away, shifting so he could pull his hand out of Harry’s open trousers.

Harry’s harsh breathing echoed off the stone walls, the sound amplified by the cavernous showers behind them. He swallowed thickly, the enormity of what they had just done crashing over him.

“Wow,” he said, unsure of where to let his gaze settle. Draco's lips were swollen from their kisses, his naked torso flushed from his orgasm, his Mark still undulating slightly.

“Yeah.” Draco said, awkwardly wiping his hand against his leather trousers. His cheeks darkened as the movement caused the tattoo to brush against his side, sending a shiver through him. “We should shower." 

“We should.” 

Mortification growing, Draco stood, holding his hand out to help Harry up and retracting it quickly when he realized he’d reached out automatically with his left arm.

Harry got to his feet on his own, one hand clutching his opened trousers to keep them in place. They bumped against each other as they moved toward the bank of shower stalls, making Harry stutter with self-consciousness and panic.

“S-separately. We should shower separately.”

Draco’s eyes widened marginally, his blush spreading to his neck. 

“Of course! I didn’t, I wouldn’t –”

“I know! I mean, never mind. Er, I’ll just – here.” Harry stumbled into the nearest shower stall, pulling the curtain taut behind him. 

He leaned forward, letting his forehead rest against the cool tile. He had no idea what had just happened. Surely he hadn’t used Draco’s Dark Mark to get him off – had he? Harry was torn between satiation and uneasiness; he didn’t like the implications of him being able to manipulate Draco’s Mark. 

Harry relaxed slightly when he heard a shower a few stalls away turn on. Lecturing himself roundly for once again bounding into uncharted territory without forethought – as well as for being a pervert – Harry shucked his own clothes and draped them over the rod, checking the shower’s cubby hole to make sure he had a towel before turning the cold water on full blast and stepping under the spray.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry had been long gone by the time the water had run cold and Draco had finally stepped out of the shower. The blond had dressed quickly, casting a Cleaning Charm over his Quidditch trousers and sliding into them, ignoring the way the thought of why he’d needed the charm in the first place made his belly heat. 

Instead of racing back to the castle, he’d decided a good, long fly might help him make sense of what had happened. As someone who had kept intimate tabs on Harry Potter for years – though mostly out of spite and animosity, until recently – he had easily been able to see the fear that had been laced through the embarrassment and arousal in Harry’s eyes after their romp in the locker room. 

Draco had to admit that although what Harry had done to his Dark Mark had been sexy as hell, it was also a bit worrying. He hadn’t seen another Marked Death Eater since the trials ended in August, but he distinctly remembered his father’s Mark had been faded. The image of his once-proud father dressed in a prison jumpsuit, usually shiny hair lank and dirty, Mark put purposefully on display by the Wizengamot, was burned into his memory. 

Suddenly anxious to look at his own Mark, Draco brought his broom in for a bumpy landing near the Whomping Willow. Carefully dodging its flailing branches, he darted toward the front entrance, brushing past a group of first years who had been poking at the tree with one of its own sticks.

Draco clattered down the stairs, skillfully hopping over the disappearing step that often tripped his housemates who weren’t used to living in the dungeons yet. He skidded to a stop in front of the portrait that guarded the dorm, delivering the latest password without his customary smirk.

“ _ Vis venia est reproba venia _ .”

The man in the portrait regarded him coolly but slipped to the side all the same, allowing him passage. Draco didn’t doubt that the passwords the prefects set were reported directly to the Headmistress, but when McGonagall had failed to punish them for their first subversive password in late September, they’d progressively been getting worse. The latest one, which translated to “forced forgiveness is false forgiveness”, a direct jab at the name the Headmistress had given their dorm, had actually been Hermione’s idea. 

When the first face he saw as he stepped into the common room was Blaise’s, he breathed a sigh of relief. He caught the other boy’s eye, inclining his head toward his room slightly. Blaise nodded, his attention still seemingly on the Arithmancy book open on the table in front of him. Pansy was blathering on about the unfairness of Charlie Weasley preferring men – something Ginny had delighted in telling her after finding out the former Slytherin had designs on her brother – leaving her oblivious to Draco’s entrance or the rather obvious distress in his expression. 

“I’m serious, Blaise,” she said, lower lip pouting. “First Draco, now Charlie Weasley? Can you believe it? What’s next? Harry Potter proclaiming  _ he _ likes to take it up the arse, too?”

Blaise smirked. He rather thought Harry Potter would prefer being on the other end of things. At least, he hoped he would, knowing that in Draco’s rather limited sexual experience, he’d found he preferred to be the bottom. Not that Blaise had first-hand knowledge of Draco’s preferences, but he’d shared a dorm with him for years, and the blond’s Silencing Charms had always been horrible. 

“Are you even listening to me?” Pansy’s shrill tone made Blaise cringe internally, but he masked his annoyance with a small, placating smile.

“Of course I am, Pans,” he said, making a show of rifling through his stack of books. “Damn. I forgot my copy of  _ Elemental Equations _ .”

Pansy reached into her bag to pull out her own book for him, but Blaise was already standing. 

“No, it’s alright. I have some notes in the margins of mine. I think Draco borrowed it. I’ll be back.”

He disappeared into the blond’s room, giving the door only a cursory knock before opening it and striding in, closing it quickly behind himself. Even if Pansy had wanted to follow, he knew she couldn’t; Draco’s wards only allowed a few people to pass through, and she was not among them.

Draco was hidden behind an open armoire door, a trail of Quidditch clothes on the floor. 

“Flying again? What is that, the fifth time this week?” 

Draco peeked his head around the door, stepping out as soon as he’d pulled on a pair of comfortably worn denims. His hair, which had still been wet from his shower when he’d hopped back on his broom, sent rivulets of cold water down his naked torso and back as it began to thaw.

“Are you alright?” Blaise asked, all trace of his teasing tone vanishing as he saw the look on Draco’s face. The blond had his arm out, tracing the slightly raised Dark Mark that marred his pale flesh. “It’s not hurting, is it? I mean, it doesn’t do that anymore. Right?”

Draco shook his head and dropped his arm, grabbing a jumper that was draped over the armoire door. 

“We, er, well.”The words were slightly muffled as he pulled the material over his head, and once his mouth was free he blurted, “I wanked Harry!”

“While flying? Impressive.” Blaise snickered, kicking a pair of boxers under the bed with the toe of his boot before settling on the bed.

“Be serious. Please.”

Blaise’s smile faded a bit at Draco’s slightly edgy tone. He was obviously worked up, and if it had anything to do with why he’d been staring at his Mark, it probably wasn’t good. They’d talked about Draco’s fears that the Mark might prove too much for Harry to deal with, but that seemed unlikely, since Harry obviously knew Draco had it and Draco never made much effort to conceal it. 

“What happened?”

“He liked it. I think. I mean, he was into it at the moment. And he did this thing with my Mark,” Draco trailed off. “But afterward he was weird. Really, really weird.”

“He was probably just in awe of your breathtaking skill,” Blaise teased.

“Shut it. You’re the slut, not me.” Draco’s grin faded. “He wouldn’t even meet my eye afterward, Blaise.”

“So the Mark didn’t turn him off? You had your usual reaction to him touching it, I assume?”

Draco shook his head, a troubled smile playing across his lips as he remembered just how  _ not _ turned off Harry had been by his Dark Mark. He resisted the urge to ruck up his sleeve and look at the Mark, which tingled slightly at the memory of Harry’s tongue gliding across it, mapping its contours. 

“He, uh,  _ licked _ it.” 

Blaise couldn’t help but laugh at Draco’s awed tone and almost bashful grin. He’d never known Draco to be flustered, but that was the only word he could find to describe the way the blond was acting. It made sense, though. Harry was the only person who had ever managed to get under Draco’s skin, which clearly translated to the romantic plane as well. Draco wasn’t one to wax poetic about his sexual encounters, and it was amusing to see him so affected.

“Kinky.” Blaise laughed when Draco glared at him. “Alright. So he licks it, in the unkinkiest way possible –” he snickered, drawing another glare from the blond. “– and you work your magic on Harry junior –” Draco covered his face with his hands, sighing. “– hey, you came to  _ me _ , mate. So anyway, you two trip the light fantastic and then what? He bolts?”

“Not exactly,” Draco said, sinking onto the bed next to Blaise. “But pretty close.”

Blaise took pity on him, figuring Draco had probably been out torturing himself about what went wrong for awhile, since he’d seen Harry amble back through the portrait about an hour earlier.

“I doubt it was anything you did, and I’m sure everything’s fine. Apparently he has some ‘commitment issues,’” Blaise said, drawing air quotes around the words. 

Draco let out a startled laugh, staring at his now clearly uncomfortable friend. In typical Slytherin fashion, they rarely admitted to having feelings, let alone  _ talk _ about them. For Blaise to willingly enter into that type of conversation belied just how much he cared about Draco, and Draco knew it. For some indescribable reason, it made him feel just a little bit better.

“Commitment issues? And you know this how?”

“Because Ginny told me. We were starting to worry that the two of you would never go past snogging. And you don’t need to worry. She says he’s crazy about you.”

The tightness in Draco’s chest eased a bit more at Blaise’s words. 

“Ginny, eh? When did she become  _ Ginny _ ?”

Blaise leered at him, waggling his eyebrows.

“I suppose at some point between her putting her tongue down my throat and me putting my hand up her skirt,” Blaise said with a smirk. “You’ve been too busy with Mr. Wonderful to notice, but Ginny and I started seeing each two weeks ago.”

Draco couldn’t believe he hadn’t known that. Sure, he’d been caught up with Harry, but he hadn’t realized they’d been  _ that _ isolated from things. 

“What else have I missed? McGonagall marrying a goblin? Pansy finally passing a Potions exam without cheating?”

Blaise laughed, tossing a balled up T-shirt at the blond. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know Pansy can barely brew a pot of lip gloss, let alone pass a N.E.W.T.-level Potions exam.”

***

Hermione looked up from behind a towering stack of books, groaning when she caught sight of the clock. Already almost midnight, and she hadn’t even started on the Arithmancy equations that were due the next day.

“I shouldn’t keep you any longer,” Harry said apologetically, correctly following her train of thought. “Just getting me pointed in the right direction is a huge help.”

Hermione clucked her tongue, pulling a different dusty tome off the pile and opening it to the index. Most of what they’d been able to find on Protean Charms dealt with the lighter applications of the spell, like the coins she had charmed for the D.A. in fifth year. So far she hadn’t unearthed anything that could shed any light on the phenomenon Harry had described.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she chastised. 

Harry blew out a breath, setting aside his own book.

“This could take forever,” he said, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. “And there’s no guarantee there even  _ is _ an answer. I – I just need to know.”

Hermione nodded, still engrossed in her book. She reached out, laying a hand over Harry’s and giving it a squeeze. She hadn’t been surprised when he had come to her yesterday and told her he and Draco were becoming romantically involved. Hell, even  _ Ron _ had seen that coming weeks ago. What  _ had _ surprised her was Harry’s description of the way Draco’s Dark Mark had responded to him, as well as the strange attraction that Harry had said almost irresistibly lured him to touching and speaking to the tattoo. 

“I don’t think there’s any chance Voldemort is still alive, Harry,” she said softly, squeezing his hand once more before letting it go and turning the page. “You’d know if he was. I believe that. I really do.”

Harry nodded, a familiar sick sense of dread creeping through him. The fear that Voldemort wasn’t truly gone had plagued him frequently after the war ended, and it still resurfaced from time to time now, months later. Every time he had a flare of anger or a dark thought, his mind immediately flashed to the Horcrux that had been stored inside him, wondering if some part of Voldemort had remained. He’d always been able to convince himself it was ridiculous – until now.

“It was almost like a compulsion.” Harry’s eyes slid shut as he remembered the way Draco’s Mark had come alive under his lips. He’d felt so drawn to it, so  _ connected _ with it. 

“You’ve said,” Hermione noted wryly, amused at the dreamy look on Harry’s face.

“Right.” Harry cleared his throat, willing away the growing heaviness in his groin. 

She marked her place with a spare quill, closing the heavy volume she’d been studying with a loud thump. Harry jumped slightly, startled at the way the noise echoed through the otherwise empty library.

“I’m for bed, I think,” she said, stretching her aching back and standing. All N.E.W.T. students were given their own study carrels in the library, which meant she could leave the books there and not worry about Madam Pince reshelving them while she still needed them.

“I’ll stay a bit longer,” Harry said, propping his head against his hand as he chose yet another book.

“You will go to bed, right?” She squeezed his shoulder, frowning at how tense the muscle under her hand was.

“Always do,” he said absently, jotting down notes from the latest chapter. He could feel the heat of her glare even without looking. “Eventually.”

A sharp gasp from Harry cut off the reprimand that had been forming on Hermione’s tongue. She dropped her bag, hurrying back to his side so she could read over his shoulder. It was one of the books she’d taken from the Restricted Section, which was no longer off limits to the entire student body. McGonagall believed making the subjects discussed in those books “forbidden” would lead to even greater curiosity, so she’d allowed access to all students fifth year and above. Initially the dark, dusty wing of the library had been crowded with students, but the allure had worn off rather quickly for most. Still, it was Hermione’s go-to place for research when the subject was Harry.

“There’s such a small chance this could have happened.” Hermione frowned, sinking into the chair next to him and pulling the book closer so she could read the rest of the passage. “You don’t honestly think –”

Harry turned to her, green eyes standing out starkly on his too-pale face.

“That’s exactly what I think,” he whispered, words falling from lips that had gone numb with revulsion and shock. 

***

Draco was afraid he was going spare. He hadn’t been able to have a word in private with Harry since the locker room incident, which had been four days ago. 

He’d waited until Harry had been missing for two days before appealing to Hermione, Ginny and even Ron for information, though his pleas had fallen on deaf ears. In his desperation, he’d even consulted Madam Pomfrey, knowing that as his apprentice mentor, she’d likely know exactly where he was. She’d done nothing more than offer him a sad smile and send him back to class, which only increased his concern.

On Wednesday, an announcement was made in the Great Hall at breakfast that Harry was safe and well but that unforeseen circumstances had required him to take a short break from classes. Even Blaise hadn’t been able to coax any information out of Ginny, aside from the admission that Harry was not ill and was still on Hogwarts grounds, even though he was no longer sleeping in the dorm.

Rumors abounded, but they were all so laughable that Draco didn’t pay them any mind. The most virulent rumor was that Harry had been caught out having an affair with one of the professors –gossipers believed Professor Sinistra, the youngest on the staff by at least a good two decades, was the most likely candidate – and had been threatened with suspension by McGonagall if the relationship didn’t end. Another particularly popular one claimed Kingsley Shacklebolt was stepping down from his post and Harry had been tapped to be the next Minister for Magic. 

But it wasn’t until Thursday afternoon, when Draco was trolling the infirmary, hoping to find Harry in one of his apprentice lessons with Madam Pomfrey, that he began to wish he’d paid more attention to the gossipers. Draco had found the popular rumors that the dark-haired wizard had contracted some sort of incurable disease ridiculous until he entered the infirmary and saw Ismene Bachir, a Healer at St. Mungo’s and one of the world’s foremost experts on Dark spells, bent over a stack of parchment that was clearly marked with Harry’s name.

Draco felt like all of the breath had been forced out of his lungs, a crushing weight of panic settling on his chest. Unable to stop himself and uncaring of the fact that he’d likely be punished for it, Draco burst into the infirmary, startling the Healer and bringing Madam Pomfrey running from her office.

“Are the rumors true, then? Is Harry –” Draco’s voice broke, and he took a deep breath. “Is Harry sick?”

The Healer frowned at him, but Madam Pomfrey’s stern expression softened. She stepped forward, wrapping an arm around his taut shoulders and guiding him toward the storeroom. Harry was inside, glasses low on his nose as he studied the fine print on a phial of bright green potion he’d just taken out of a box.

“Mr. Potter is hearty and hale, as you can see, Mr. Malfoy,” she said, her lips pursing as she looked at Harry. “And I think this has gone on quite long enough.”

Harry nodded, carefully returning the phial to its box and placing it on the table. Madam Pomfrey stood there a second longer, disappointment clear on her face. Harry was more dear to her than any student had ever been before, but his decision to avoid Draco instead of be honest with him had caused a few rows between them over the last few days, especially since Harry had been sleeping in the small quarters at the back of the infirmary reserved for visiting Healers.

“Take him back to your rooms, Harry,” she said softly, laying hand on both boys’ shoulders and urging them forward. “I’ll answer any questions Ismene has about your medical history. She’ll likely want to examine Mr. Malfoy soon.”

Draco’s confusion and concern grew another notch at her words, but he followed Harry wordlessly, sensing that whatever discussion they needed to have, it was best to follow Madam Pomfrey’s suggestion and do it in private.

They barely made inside before Harry whirled around, slamming Draco against the door and kissing him so hard their teeth gnashed. Draco weathered the brutal assault in motionless shock for a few seconds before responding enthusiastically, his hands coming up to twist in Harry’s robes, pulling him even closer. 

Harry molded himself to Draco, running his palms over the other boy’s face as he gentled the kiss. Draco could pinpoint the exact moment Harry’s rational brain re-engaged, since the dark-haired boy went rigid and abruptly dropped his hands, fisting them at his sides so he wouldn’t give in to the temptation to grab Draco again.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. He took another step back, shoving his fisted hands into the pockets of the denims he wore underneath the opened Healer’s robes he wore when working in the infirmary.

“Have you been here the entire time?” Draco asked, his breathing slightly irregular as he fought to control both his anger and his arousal.

“Yes.” Harry’s eyes blinked open, and Draco’s stomach dropped at the sight of the anguish in the green depths. Harry sighed.“No, that’s not exactly true. I spent Monday morning at the Ministry, but the Unspeakables brought me back that afternoon. I’ve been here ever since.”

“The Unspeakables?” Draco’s throat went dry, and he swallowed convulsively to try to wet it. “Are you – are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, ducking his head and breaking eye contact. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve been helping out more here in the infirmary, and I’ve been keeping up with all our coursework, too. Ginny and Hermione have been bringing it to me.”

“Why have you been hiding out here, then?” Though the rest of the words went unsaid, Harry could clearly see the hurt and accusation on Draco’s face when he looked up.  _ Why do your friends know what’s going on and I don’t? Why didn’t you say anything to  _ me?

“It’s complicated.”

“‘It’s complicated,’” Draco mocked, his anger finally outpacing his worry. “Good thing I’m pretty fucking  _ smart _ , then. I’m sure I can keep up.”

“Draco –”

“You disappeared! I had no idea where you were, if you were hurt or sick. If you ran off because of what we did. The only way I knew you were even  _ alive _ was because your friends still talked about you in present tense!”

“I’m sorry!” Harry exploded, his magic flaring and causing the torches on the wall to flicker. He growled, forcing himself to calm down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do at first, and then the Ministry got involved and I got quarantined and I wasn’t  _ allowed _ to tell you. Not until now.”

“You weren’t allowed to tell me  _ what _ ?” Draco seethed, his own magic responding to the crackle of Harry’s power surge.

“That  _ I _ control your Dark Mark. That it has always been  _ me, _ not Voldemort.”

Draco took a stunned breath, his anger evaporating instantly. 

“You – what?”

“Your Mark. It responds to me because  _ I’m _ its focus, not Voldemort. He might have given it to you, but  _ I’m _ the one it’s tied to.”

Draco clawed at the door, wrenching it open with such force that it banged against the stone wall. His Mark was tied to Harry? That explained why he’d felt such pleasure when Harry touched it, but what else did it mean? How was it even  _ possible?  _ Voldemort had been the one to brand his arm with the vile thing. He’d known what the true implications of it had been, even though he’d entered into it unwillingly. It was a slave bond, a –

“Sweet fucking Salazar,” he breathed, backing through the archway and out of Harry’s rooms. “You own me.”

“I don’t!” Harry protested, looking every bit as stricken as Draco. “I swear, I don’t.”

“That’s what the Mark is. I thought I was free, since he was dead. But I’m not. I’m tied to  _ you.  _ You control me.”

“No.”

“All of this, was any of it real?” Draco whispered, feeling as though the bottom had fallen out of his world. “My attraction to you? Our friendship? Any of it?”

Harry would have given anything to be able to tell Draco what he wanted to hear, but he couldn’t. Their research hadn’t turned up the implications of the bond he shared with Draco through the Dark Mark. He hadn’t been its originator – as near as the Unspeakables could tell, Harry had probably been asleep when Draco’s Mark had been given. As best they could guess, Harry’s connection to Voldemort had flared when the Dark Lord had been giving Draco his Mark, which required a forceful Legilimency attack that literally flooded the recipient’s mind with images of his or her new master, compelling obedience and servitude to a focal point projected into the recipient’s brain. If Harry had been present in Voldemort’s mind at the time, it was possible the focal point Draco’s Dark Mark had attached to was  _ him _ , not the Dark Lord. Which meant that although Draco’s Mark had acted like the other Death Eaters’ Marks in terms of summoning and tracking him, it had never been able force a bond. 

That power fell to the Mark’s focal point. Harry.


	6. Chapter 6

**January 1999**

Draco woke up in a pool of sweat, damp sheets tangled around him. His chest rose and fell quickly as he sat up, rubbing his eyes to try to eradicate the last images of his nightmare. A glance at the clock showed it was just after 2 a.m., which meant he’d only gotten about an hour of sleep. He sighed, hauling his aching body out of bed. He knew from experience that there would be no getting back to sleep. Not with Vince’s dying screams echoing in his ears.

A few weeks earlier, he’d have thrown on his dressing gown and gone to see if Harry was awake. It had become something of a routine between the two of them, ever since Harry had helped Draco conquer his fear of flying and coaxed him back onto a broom. They’d spent many nights flying in Hagrid’s meadow, sharing Harry’s seemingly bottomless collection of Chocolate Frogs and letting the frosty night air exhaust them and drive all vestiges of the nightmares that plagued both of them from their minds. 

Of course, he couldn’t do that tonight, for a variety of reasons. He walked to the window, uncaring of his nudity, and looked out over the snow-covered Manor grounds. He hadn’t expected to be allowed to return home over the Yule break. His probation required him to stay on Hogwarts grounds at all times, and the Ministry official who oversaw it was a stickler for the rules. He knew the man considered his punishment to be insufficient, but the request for probation and time served had come from the Minister himself – at the behest of Harry Potter, no less – and couldn’t be ignored. So while his fellow Death Eaters languished in Azkaban, Greg included, Draco walked relatively free, confined to a different sort of prison.

Draco snorted bitterly, caving to the cold and grabbing a soft cashmere throw from the foot of the bed to wrap around himself. He paced the luxurious room, both amused and irritated by the irony of his situation. He’d begged to be confined to the Manor, to serve the same sentence as his mother. After the Wizengamot had declared he would return to Hogwarts, he’d spent days pacing this same rug, desperately wishing he didn’t have to go back to the place that most reminded him of the death and violence of the war.

Now, though, he was under orders of a different sort. His wish had been answered, albeit several months too late. The spring term had begun three days earlier, but Draco hadn’t been on the train. No, he’d been taking tea in the sun room with a stone-faced Auror whose job it had been to make sure he and his mother stayed put while wards were laid around the Manor that would prevent him from leaving – the same sort of wards that imposed his mother’s house arrest.

“Is Master Draco wanting light?” 

He waved the small house-elf off, slightly annoyed at the intrusion. The only reason he’d been allowed a wand was so he could keep up with his class work, and now that the terms of his probation had been altered, there was no cause to let him keep it. His dour-faced parole officer had been downright giddy when he’d come to confiscate it; it had been the closest Draco had ever come to seeing the man smile. 

He didn’t know how his mother stood it; trapped in their own house, unable to cast even the simplest of charms. Without the house-elves, they wouldn’t have been able to do so much as light the sconces or heat water; everything at the Manor ran on charms and spells. It was due to his father’s magical arrogance, of course, and things could be retrofitted to work the Muggle way if necessary, but since the Ministry had locked down the Malfoy family vaults, even that couldn’t be done easily.

“Thank you, but no.”

The elf nodded, bowing low in front of him.

“Ibsy can be making hot tea, if Master wishes.”

“I don’t require anything. Truly, Ibsy. Good night.”

Ibsy bowed again, watching Draco with large, sad eyes before disappearing. The elves had noticed a marked change in both Draco and Narcissa since the end of the war, but the overwhelming sadness that now surrounded Master Draco had them all worried. Even Mistress Narcissa, who still grieved for Master Lucius’ presence every night, wasn’t as haunted as her son.

Draco slumped in his desk chair, rifling haphazardly through the drawers until he found what he’d been searching for. When his fingers closed around the hard plastic he felt a pang run through him. He shouldn’t have brought this back with him, but he’d been unable to help himself. He clenched his jaw, wondering if he’d ever be free of Harry and his influence. If he ever  _ wanted _ to be free of Harry.

As the first strains of music drifted through the headphones, Draco leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes and remembering the first time he’d seen the device he now held in his hand.

He and Harry sat shoulder-width apart on the floor of the common room, studiously ignoring the couple snogging on the sofa above them. Draco wasn’t attracted to either of its occupants in the slightest, but that didn’t prevent his trousers from growing tighter as the sounds grew more enthusiastic.

He glanced over at Harry, wondering if the other boy was similarly affected. Harry showed no sign that he had noticed that Dean and Ginny had long ago stopped even the pretense of studying. Draco let a sigh of frustration slip through his lips. He’d used the insult “puritanical Potter” more than once over the years, and he was beginning to wonder if it had been more on the mark than he’d realized. 

But then Harry shifted, revealing a strange black cord that seemed to be tucked into his ears. Curious, Draco leaned over, tugging on it. What could only be described as a small speaker fell out, and Draco could hear faint strains of music emanating from it. 

Harry grinned, pulling a flat, square object out of his sweatshirt pocket and displaying it for Draco. 

“It’s a CD player. Hermione figured out how to make them work here.” 

Draco scooted closer, closing the gap between them. He took the ear bud, resting it against his own ear. He’d listened to a few of the albums in Harry’s rather impressive collection, apparently all purchased over the summer when he’d taken to hanging out in Muggle record shops to escape the dreariness of Grimmauld Place.

Draco wasn’t familiar with the song, but the suggestive lyrics made his lips quirk. Perhaps Harry wasn’t so puritanical after all, if he could listen to songs like this without blushing.

“Is this about Animagus sex?” Draco asked, smirking at the way his question made Harry choke.

“No! It’s a Muggle.”

“A Muggle who likes bestiality, then?” 

“Of course not!” Harry protested, pushing a button on the CD player to stop the track. Draco grinned unrepentantly, pulling the ear bud out of his ear and handing it back to Harry. “It’s just a song.”

“A rather explicit song about sex,” Draco prodded, drawing a laugh from the sofa.

“Were you listening to Nine Inch Nails again, Harry?” Ginny asked, her hair falling into Draco’s face as she sprawled over the arm, looking at them upside down.

“He listens to NIN when he’s feeling sexually frustrated,” she confided to Draco in a mock-whisper that Harry could clearly hear.

“Ginny!”

Ginny grinned, which looked even more sinister upside down, and then started to squeal with giggles when Dean grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her fully back onto the cushions. 

“They clearly do not listen to Nine Inch Nails,” Draco said, wrinkling his nose when Ginny’s giggles turned into a quiet moan.

“No, they do not.” Harry laughed, shoving his books back into his bag. “My room?”

Tears pricked the back of Draco’s eyelids at the memory. He ran his thumb over the CD player, wishing it was Harry’s skin instead. He hated himself for feeling this way.  _ Hated _ himself. Even knowing that everything he felt for Harry was likely manufactured by the bond between them, he couldn’t help but want to be close to the other boy. That was the reason for his exile at the Manor. The Unspeakables and Healers hadn’t been able to find any conclusive proof that Harry  _ wasn’t _ somehow controlling him, and until they could get to the bottom of what was happening, Harry and Draco weren’t allowed to communicate at all. 

He’d overheard a Healer at St. Mungo’s, where he’d been taken for a battery of tests after Harry’s confession, saying that the Ministry worried Harry had the potential to become a new Dark Lord. Draco doubted that was true, especially since Kingsley Shacklebolt was firmly on Harry’s side. And the idea that Harry could ever be anything dark or evil was, frankly, laughable. 

Draco let himself drift on the edge of sleep, listening to the rest of the CD. Harry had lent it to him a few days before everything had blown up, and Draco had tucked it into his bags as he’d packed up his room, knowing he should return it but unable to give back the only memento of Harry he had. The music was dark and angry, but it soothed him nonetheless.

He hadn’t expected to sleep but fell into a restless slumber anyway, already out before the CD player went quiet after the last song. The next time he woke, he found himself hard and horny, ripped from a dream about Harry by the first rays of light cutting through the darkness outside his window. He growled wordlessly, grabbing his blanket and sprawling back on the bed. When his aching erection made it impossible for him to fall back to sleep, he wrapped his hand around it, pumping it teasingly as he wracked his mind for images from the fading dream.

The shower. He and Harry had been in the shower. Draco rolled out of bed, hoping indulging himself in part of the dream would bring the rest back. His suite of rooms had a well-appointed bathroom with an enormous soaking tub, but he bypassed that, cock still in hand as he stepped into the tiled shower and turned the water on. The spray was cold at first but quickly warmed, and he let the water sluice over him as he leisurely stroked himself, flashes of his dream coming back, just as he’d hoped.

Harry’s lips on his neck, his teeth sharp against his skin. Harry’s hands roving over his body, somehow managing to feel even warmer than the steamy water that was coursing over both of them. The insistent press of Harry’s cock, slipping between his arse cheeks and sliding against his soapy skin, rubbing teasingly against his entrance.

Draco moaned, his legs going weak as he fisted himself. Instinctively he reached a hand out to brace himself against the shower wall, breathing in the sandalwood-scented steam as he gasped for breath, his hand gliding along his soap-slicked cock with increasing speed. He arched his neck, imagining the droplets of water that pounded against his flesh were actually Harry’s fingers caressing him as he soared higher toward his climax.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his desperation to regain the sensations of the dream rising as his strokes became rougher. More images tumbled through his mind, mixing memory and dream. Harry’s lips, swollen and red after they’d snogged. The rasp of Harry’s stubble against his cheek, slightly sharp and deliciously foreign, since he’d never been with anyone who hadn’t used spells rather than razors to shave. Harry’s eyes, pools of black edged in vibrant green, as he came. Draco hissed out a breath, the images stuttering as he recalled what had happened directly after he’d seen that expression on Harry’s face. 

Draco tugged at his cock mercilessly, willing the images from his latest dream to the forefront of his mind. He was so close, nearly there. His muscles tensed in anticipation of his orgasm, the heat that had been growing in his belly and radiating out toward his limbs, almost ready to explode. Harry’s stricken face faded from his mind, replaced by the sensation of smooth skin pressed against his back. Draco raised the arm that was braced against the wall, letting his forehead rest against the cool, wet tile, just as it had been in the dream. He angled his feet, sliding his legs further apart as though giving access to an unseen partner. 

He let out a choked breath as he passed the point of no return, his orgasm cresting at the same moment he imagined Harry’s fingers sliding into his arse, the burn as the muscle stretched to accommodate the blunt digits sending him slamming over the edge, painting the wall with his release as he sobbed out Harry’s name, pumping violently into his fist.

Draco let his hand fall away from his spent cock, leaning heavily against the wall. His surroundings slowly came back to him as the thrum of his pulse in his ears began to fade. The steady tattoo of the water drumming around him, the slight itch of skin that had been exposed to hot water for too long. He took a deep, calming breath, pushing off from the wall and turning the water off. 

One of the house-elves had been in while he’d been otherwise engaged, as was apparent from the stack of spell-warmed towels sitting on the bench outside the shower. He snagged one, roughly toweling himself dry and then wrapping it around his waist. The stone floor was cold under his bare feet as he padded over to the vanity, running a hand over his own stubbled jaw. Harry had been the first wizard he’d ever known to shave the Muggle way, but he wasn’t the last. Not now that Draco couldn’t even use magic for the most basic of tasks. 

Draco sighed, reaching for the razor the house-elves had acquired for him. Life without magic was bad enough, but life without Harry was turning out to be even worse. As much as Draco wanted to hate the other boy for the bond he’d inadvertently forced on him, part of him was soothed by it. He’d been thrust into the service of a madman by his father, but at least the bond had been forged with someone he loved. Of course, he had no way of knowing if that love was influenced by the Mark or not. 

Draco gritted his teeth, lathering his face with the shaving cream that had appeared in his vanity at the same time as the razors. His mind was so jumbled lately that he wasn’t sure of much, but he  _ was _ certain of one thing. He couldn’t continue this way. 

***

“I don’t see why you’re asking  _ me _ ,” Harry said, scrubbing his face tiredly. “I’m not even allowed to send him owls.”

Kingsley pushed a form across McGonagall’s desk, pointing to the box for Harry’s signature.

“You’re the only one who can grant him permission,” he said patiently. They’d been through this, but Harry seemed resolute in his determination to pretend like the slave bond between himself and Draco didn’t exist.

“ _ I  _ don’t even know why he wants to go.  _ You’re _ the one who put him on house arrest. Surely  _ you _ can grant him permission to visit Azkaban?” Bitterness seeped into Harry’s tone, and the Headmistress cleared her throat, gently reminding him that he wasn’t just speaking to Kingsley, he was speaking to the Minister for Magic. He blew out a breath, gathering his thoughts. “I’m sorry. I just don’t understand what keeping us separated accomplishes.”

Of course, Harry had no inkling of whether or not Draco would even  _ want _ to see him. The last conversation he’d had with the blond had been his rather unfortunate blurting of the situation in the infirmary. Healer Bachir had whisked Draco away shortly after that, shuttling him to St. Mungo’s for tests. The Unspeakables had stepped in after that, gaining the Minister’s approval to rescind Draco’s probation and keep him sequestered at the Manor. The official line was that they were doing it because the implications of Harry’s bond to Draco were unclear, but Harry could see the distrust in their eyes as they’d put him through yet another round of tests and diagnostic spells. They were afraid of him. It hurt him more than he was willing to admit to see the same unease in Kingsley’s eyes as he looked at him now.

“To be honest, I don’t know either, Harry. But my top advisors are telling me it’s necessary, and I’m trusting their judgment.” Kingsley sighed. “He wants to see his father. He seems to think Lucius Malfoy can shed some light on some of the unanswered questions everyone has about the slave bond that links you two through his Mark.”

Harry reached for a quill, signing his name on the line.

“Was that so hard? All you had to do was tell me  _ why _ .”


	7. Chapter 7

**February 1999**

The bed dipped, springs squeaking in protest under the weight of an additional body. Harry rolled to the side slightly, not removing his face from the pillow it was buried in as he made room for the visitor. His wards were solid, and only a few select people were allowed through. That, coupled with the fact that several of those people had no compunction about interrupting his sleep to hound him about homework or relay their relationship woes, left him unconcerned by the intrusion. 

“I already told you I’m not going to the damn dance,” Harry growled, burrowing his head deeper into the soft fabric. “You’ll just end up sneaking off to shag Blaise in some broom cupboard anyway. You don’t need me there.”

The faint scent of sandalwood caught his attention, but before it fully registered, a voice that was most definitely  _ not _ Ginny spoke.

“I know it’s been a few weeks, but that doesn’t mean I’m desperate enough to stoop to  _ Blaise. _ ”

Heart racing, Harry scrambled to sit up, heedless of the way the motion stripped off the blankets he’d been wrapped in. Draco’s mouth went dry at the sight of Harry’s naked torso on display.

“Draco?” Harry blinked, trying to clear the muzziness from his brain. He took the glasses Draco handed him, shoving them on his face roughly. As the blond’s face swam into focus, Harry’s stomach clenched in panicked awareness. “Your probation! Being here could get you sent to Azkaban!”

Draco’s smile lit his entire face, taking what was left of Harry’s breath away.

“My sentence has been rescinded,” he said, hardly able to believe it himself, even though he’d had forty-eight hours to process it. As far as the Ministry was concerned, Draco Malfoy, Death Eater, no longer existed. He was simply Draco Malfoy, head of the soon-to-be-restored Malfoy Estate. His family seat on the Wizengamot was even being reinstated, something that had been stripped from his father after the First Voldemort War.

“Rescinded?” Harry asked, his mind finally coming to full wakefulness. 

“Remember how they wouldn’t allow my father to testify at my trial? After that, he refused to cooperate with the Wizengamot’s investigations into other potential Death Eaters.”

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak or move. His hands were fisted at his sides, clenched tightly with the effort of not reaching out to touch Draco. The blond still hadn’t explained  _ how _ he’d gotten his sentence rescinded, let alone why the Ministry had allowed him to come back, not only to Hogwarts but to Harry as well. Draco’s presence also seemed to imply that he  _ wanted _ to be back, which sent a tremor of hope through Harry. The last time he’d seen Draco the other boy had been too disgusted to even touch him; could this mean Draco no longer hated him because of the bond they shared?

“He’s been in solitary confinement in Azkaban since my trial,” Draco said, his voice wavering a bit. He and his mother hadn’t been allowed any contact with his father, so they’d had no way of knowing just how badly Lucius was being treated. 

Draco’s lips curved into a bitter smile, his mercurial eyes hardening.

“We thought the reason we hadn’t been allowed to visit him because of our own probations. When I petitioned to see him so I could question him about my Mark –” Draco glanced down at his left arm, which was between them on the bed. Even though Draco was fully clothed, Harry could pinpoint exactly where the Mark was; he felt drawn to it, aware of it in a way he couldn’t exactly explain. 

Draco reached out suddenly with his right arm, leaving the left braced against the mattress. His fingertips fluttered over Harry’s stubbled jaw, and his heart leapt at the way green eyes slid closed as Harry leaned into the touch.

“I was wrong. The Mark, the bond – it has nothing to do with the way you make me feel.” Draco closed the gap between them, his mouth closing over Harry’s before the other boy could protest. Harry melted into the kiss, his hands unclenching and sliding up Draco’s body to cradle his head. 

“The only way to force obedience through the Mark is Legilimency,” he gasped, his lips moving against Harry’s as he spoke. 

“I’m crap at Legilimency,” Harry murmured, drawing a chuckle from the blond.

Harry pushed Draco back, peppering kisses over jaw, mouthing against pale skin until Draco’s eyes fluttered shut. Harry pressed chaste kisses against his brow, pouring all the frustration and hurt of the last few weeks into memorizing the planes of Draco’s face with his lips.

Unsatisfied by Harry’s gentle ministrations, Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s back, pulling him down until their bodies were flush. Slender fingers roamed over warm, tanned flesh as he explored the bunched, trembling muscles of Harry’s shoulders, teasing their way down over the planes of his back before coming to rest against curve of his naked arse. 

“I know,” Draco whispered, his grey eyes nearly black with arousal as unblinkingly stared into Harry’s, demonstrating just how unconcerned he was. “You couldn’t make me do this if you tried.”

“I’ve never been so happy to be inadequate,” Harry agreed breathlessly, ducking his head once more and silencing Draco with his a hard kiss that left them both gasping for air.

During his Ministry-imposed absence, Draco had resolved never to waste any of the precious time he and Harry had together again, should he be lucky enough to find himself in the dark-haired boy’s arms again. Adrenaline coursed through him, stripping away his inhibitions as he slid his hand around Harry’s waist, seeking the heavy erection that was pressed against his hip.

“Just at Legilimency.” Draco palmed Harry’s cock, pumping it slowly. “And thank fuck for that.”

Harry groaned, rolling to the side. Before Draco could protest, he grabbed his wand, Banishing Draco’s clothing with a nonverbal spell. Draco shivered as the magic caressed his skin, his Mark responding to Harry’s magical signature by undulating slightly. He cried out when Harry’s callused palm covered his own aching erection, the slightly rough skin sliding across the sensitive head, spreading the slippery precome that had gathered there down his shaft with a deft movement.

He arched his hips up insistently, hissing out his approval when Harry’s other hand slid underneath him, a blunt fingertip circling his entrance. Harry’s breath hitched in surprise when he found the ring of muscle already lubricated and stretched, his cock throbbing painfully at the thought of Draco carefully preparing himself before coming to see him.

Draco bit his lip, holding back a moan as Harry obligingly slid first one, then two fingers inside him, pumping Draco’s cock faster as he fingerfucked him.

Draco whined wordlessly, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he tried to thrust himself against Harry’s fingers, trying to find the angle that would bring the most pleasure. When Harry started to add a third finger Draco stilled his arm, reaching down to wrap his hand around Harry’s cock again and leaving no question as to what he wanted.

“Are you sure?” Harry positioned himself at Draco’s entrance, and though everything in him was begging him to thrust into the blond, he wanted to be certain this was what Draco wanted. 

Grey eyes flicked open, meeting Harry’s searching gaze. Harry was asking for more than permission to fuck him, and Draco knew it. A brilliant smile curved his lips as he nodded, giving himself fully to Harry, body and mind. Knowing Harry required more but unable to put voice to his feelings, Draco opened his mind, pushing everything he wanted to say but couldn’t past Harry’s weak Occlumency shields. 

Harry knees nearly buckled as images and emotions flooded his mind, too jumbled for him to follow any one thread but all infused with an overwhelming sense of love and need. Smirking slightly, Draco focused on what he’d been doing right before he came to Harry’s room. He’d arrived at Hogwarts while the students were at dinner, meeting briefly with the Headmistress before slipping into his old room unnoticed. He’d stayed there until he’d been sure everyone else was asleep, not wanting an audience for his reunion with Harry. For the last hour he’d been unable to help himself, so excited at the prospect of seeing Harry –  _ touching _ Harry – again that he’d given in and allowed himself a leisurely wank. He’d come spectacularly once already tonight, with his fingers buried in his arse much like Harry’s had been just seconds ago, watching himself in a mirror for the sole purpose of being able to tease Harry with the memory later.

“Fuck,” Harry bit out, shutting his eyes to stop the flow of images as soon as Draco pictured himself shaking with the force of his orgasm, his legs falling open fully, exposing him fully to the mirror. 

Harry drove forward with one hard thrust, burying himself deeply inside the trembling blond underneath him. Draco hissed out a breath, curling his legs around Harry’s hips to keep him from pulling out too far. Harry reared back, pistoning his hips forward again with a few spastic thrusts, too far gone to care that he was coming so soon. He reached out blindly for Draco’s left forearm, his fingers finding the Dark Mark as if guided there by magnets. As pads of his fingers slid over the slightly raised flesh, Draco arched up into him, forcing Harry deeper and milking the last of Harry’s orgasm from him as he began to come as well.

Harry leaned forward, resting his head against Draco’s collarbone as he caught his breath. Loathe to break the connection between them, he withdrew carefully, easing the sting by pressing a kiss against Draco’s Mark.

“Welcome back,” he whispered, curving his body around Draco’s on the small bed. 

***

Harry woke to soft lips mouthing against his shoulder blades. He and Draco had spent the night alternating between sleeping and shagging, finally exhausting themselves and falling into a deeper slumber just before dawn. He was sated, sore in places he’d never imagined could hurt and happier than he could ever recall being. Harry stretched and sighed, blinking in shock when he the clock on the nightstand swam into somewhat blurry focus.

“Fuck me, is that the time?” He tried to scramble up, grunting when Draco’s arms tightened around him and pulled him back against the bed, pinning him to the mattress.

“Let go, Draco. I have class!” When Draco failed to release him, Harry shoved at him. “I have a paper due in Charms, and Flitwick won’t accept late work.”

“I’d rather focus on the fucking you part,” Draco purred, rutting against Harry’s hip, already hard. When Harry didn’t relax into his embrace, he sighed, letting the other boy go. Harry was off the bed in seconds, tugging his legs into a pair of rumpled trousers on the floor. 

“Ginny came by about twenty minutes ago to get your essay. McGonagall’s given us both the day off classes to adjust –” Draco snorted, rolling his eyes. “– to our new situation.”

“Situation?” Harry questioned, hopping on one foot as he struggled to free himself from the fabric he’d hastily pulled on when he realized he’d put his leg down the wrong hole.

There hadn’t been much room for discussion last night, between several rounds of sex and a few hours of drifting sleepily, wrapped around each other. In the light of day – artificial as it may have been, thanks to the underwater window – hundreds of questions flooded Harry’s mind as he realized just how much they had to talk about.

Draco sat up, the blankets pooling around his waist. He’d hoped to lure Harry back to bed for more sex and another nap, but that didn’t seem to be in the cards. Still, he was already feeling more refreshed than he’d been in weeks, if not months, from the small amount of sleep they’d already managed. Sleeping next to Harry was the first time since the end of the war that he’d avoided having a nightmare. 

“Even though you can’t effectively control me through my Mark, the bond still exists,” Draco said, waving his tattooed forearm in the air. “The Unspeakables wanted to put some sort of barrier in my mind keyed just to you to prevent Legilimency, just in case.”

Harry finally won his battle with his trousers, fastening the fly on the brushed wool uniform slacks and dropping onto the bed beside Draco, his expression troubled. That the Unspeakables worried about him using the inadvertent bond to control Draco confirmed his suspicions about the Ministry worrying he was dangerous.

“I didn’t let them.” Draco’s lips quirked, his hand coming up to absently stroke the Mark. “I didn’t know if it would interfere with the way you can, er, manipulate it.”

“Like this?” he hissed in Parseltongue, enjoying the way both Draco and the Dark Mark squirmed at the sibilant sound.

“I thought you wanted to talk.” Draco whimpered when Harry hissed again, tanned fingers fanning out over the writhing Mark, making Draco gasp out loud.

“We have the day off, don’t we?” Harry whispered, his lips pressed against the smooth skin of Draco’s torso as his tongue sought out one of his flat, pebbled nipples, licking a swath across it and eliciting a soft moan from the blond. 

Draco’s fingers fumbled with Harry’s trousers, clumsy with arousal as he struggled to unfasten them. Harry lifted his hips so the blond could ease the fabric over them, and moments later they were once again pooled on the floor beside the bed. His hand closed over Harry’s thick length, making the other boy hiss with pleasure. Draco’s own cock jumped at the sound, and a wicked smile spread over his face. It looked like his plans of sex and more sleep hadn’t been derailed, after all.

***

The boys stayed holed up in Harry’s room, eating pumpkin pasties from the last Hogsmeade weekend and drinking Butterbeer from the drawer that Hermione had charmed to stay cool. They’d agreed that in order to actually talk – and they both acknowledged it was important to discuss their situation, as McGonagall had described it – it would be best to get dressed, a decision which Harry was fervently grateful for a few hours later when a sharp knock sounded on his door moments before it banged open, revealing Ginny and Blaise.

“Damn.” 

Ginny smirked, holding her hand out expectantly. Blaise rolled his eyes, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a small sack of coins, which he dropped into her palm.

“Something must be wrong with them,” Blaise declared, ushering Ginny into the room and closing the door behind them just as several curious faces peeked in from the corridor. “If I hadn’t seen you in weeks, I’d be shagging you senseless for  _ days _ afterward.”

Harry wrinkled his nose, scooting a bit so Ginny could join him, perched on the trunk at the end of his bed.

“Some of us have self-restraint,” he said, slapping Ginny’s hand away as she bent the collar of his shirt back, exposing a rather spectacular hickey.

“ _ Some _ of you have probably been going at it like bunnies for hours. McGonagall told us Draco got in last night.”

“More ferociously than bunnies,” Draco sniffed in mock offense. “More like wolves. See, they do this thing –”

Blaise cut him off with a disgusted look, making Harry and Ginny snicker. Draco grinned wickedly, shrugging his shoulders.

“McGonagall told you Draco was back?” Harry questioned, leaning over to open the drawer he stored his refreshments in and extracting two more bottles of chilled Butterbeer.

“Only a few of us,” Ginny explained, popping the top off her drink. She fished in her pocket for a small bundle of sandwiches she’d begged off the house-elves, since she and Blaise were missing what was left of lunch to see Harry and Draco. She tossed one to each of the boys, unwrapping her own and taking a large bite with gusto. 

“She wanted to be sure your friends understood the parameters of the bond,” Blaise explained, shaking his head at Ginny before taking a smaller, more polite bite of his own sandwich.

“Sod off. I missed breakfast, and you know it,” she said, getting a saucy wink from Blaise in return. Harry could imagine just exactly  _ why _ Ginny had missed breakfast, and the thought put him off his own lunch a bit. “Anyway, Harry, yes, McGonagall met with a few of us. She thought we should all know that stupid slave bond wasn’t controlling Draco and that the Ministry had issued him a full pardon. She also said something about you two being allowed to room together, which is  _ so _ unfair. Ron and Hermione were there, and so was Pansy.” She frowned slightly. “She’s a bit of a nutter, that one.”

“We can room together?” Harry asked at the same time Draco voiced concern about Pansy. 

“Yes, you lucky bastards. The bond gives you rights, apparently. And yes, Pansy lost the plot a bit,” Ginny said with a smirk.

“She didn’t know you and Harry were  _ involved _ ,” Blaise said, putting dramatic emphasis on the last word as he draped his forearm over his face, pretending to swoon. It was exactly the type of thing Pansy would do, and it made Draco laugh. “She’s pretty pissed at you for that. Not the shagging Harry part, the not telling her part.”

Draco shot him a wry glance, and Blaise snickered.

“Alright, maybe a  _ little _ over the shagging Harry part.” Ginny snorted at Blaise’s words. “More because of  _ Harry _ than you, though. I think he was her last hope of finding a rich wizard to marry who wasn’t disgustingly old. That’s what she’s setting her sights on now that she’s found out Ginny’s brother is off the table, so to speak.”

Blaise grimaced when Draco waggled his eyebrows suggestively and everyone in the room laughed.

“Hey, don’t look at me! I’m not the first born. No title to inherit,” he said, holding his hands up.

“First you miss out on being Mrs. Harry Potter, and now no Baroness Zabini? Tough break, Gin,” Harry teased, wincing when Ginny’s fist clipped the bottom of his jaw hard enough to snap his mouth shut, making his teeth click loudly.

“Well, my brother  _ did _ say he thought she was pretty fit when she visited at Christmas,” Blaise said, holding a hand over his heart. “She might get the title yet.”


	8. Chapter 8

**May 1999**

Draco looked up from his letter as Hermione slid onto the bench between him and Harry, her cheeks flushed with excitement. A month earlier, nothing would have been able to distract him from a missive from his father, but now that the new head of Magical Law Enforcement, Tiberius Ogden, had lifted the communication ban, he had a letter from him nearly every day. 

Draco felt like he was getting to know his father all over again through those letters. For so long, he’d hated and feared him, forgetting the picnics they’d had when he was a child, the flying lessons, the summers spent in France. Before the second rise of Voldemort, his father had been loving and demonstrative, making it a point to set aside his work from time to time to spend a day alone with Draco, doing whatever the boy had wanted. 

That had all changed once Voldemort returned, though. Draco now understood that much of what his father did was due to the forced compliance demanded by the Dark Mark. Even the way he’d pulled away from Draco, sometimes going days without seeing him, even when Draco was home on break, had been to protect his son. He’d hoped that if he limited his contact with Draco that Voldemort wouldn’t pick up on his fear that his son would be forced into servitude, but the Dark Lord inevitably had seen through his ruse and used Draco as a tool against him.

Draco tucked the parchment under his plate, leaning forward expectantly to hear whatever had gotten Hermione so excited. Through their correspondence, he’d learned that despite the fact that his father hadn’t wanted Draco to become a Death Eater, he  _ did _ support most of Voldemort’s ideals, including believing that witches like Hermione were substandard somehow. Having gotten to know her over the last few months, Draco could say with certainty that his father was wrong on that count. Hermione was one of the smartest witches he’d ever met, and he’d grown to like her immensely. He’d even come around to tolerating Ron.

“So I was in the library –”

“Shocking,” Harry drawled, sounding so much like Draco that even Hermione, irritated at the interruption, had to smile.

“As I was saying, I was in the library, researching Legilimency-controlled bonds, when I came across an exciting discovery I think you’ll want to see.”

Hermione was applying to Exeter, one of the only universities to offer a Mastery course in Dark Magic. She’d been interested in the Department of Mysteries ever since fifth year, and after seeing the Unspeakables in action working on Harry and Draco’s bond, she’d been even more intrigued. Kingsley had strongly hinted that the Mastery course might help her gain entrance into the clandestine group, and she’d been determined to complete the prestigious university program ever since. She was even writing a thesis for her application, focusing on Legilimency-controlled bonds. Harry and Draco were graciously allowing her to use them as guinea pigs for her experiments, so her exuberant appearance at breakfast hardly surprised either of them.

Harry rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to his porridge. Hermione had made more than a dozen “exciting discoveries” over the last few months, and Harry had found exactly  _ none  _ of them actually exciting. Still, he was more than happy to help her, especially since he wanted her to get into Exeter. He and Draco would both be attending the university in the fall, Harry for its Healing Mastery and Draco for, surprisingly, a course of study in wizarding law. The unfair treatment his father had suffered had inspired Draco to become a solicitor himself, with an eye toward using his education to help reshape the Wizengamot when he claimed his family seat. Members had to be at least thirty-five years old to sit on the Wizengamot, and Draco planned to use the time to start a law practice that provided representation to witches and wizards who couldn’t afford solicitors.

“Maybe you’re right,” Hermione said, an uncharacteristically wicked smile curving her lips when Draco, too, lost interest and went back to his letter. “I can see how you wouldn’t be the slightest bit intrigued by the fact that it’s possible for Harry to change your Mark, Draco.”

Two heads snapped up at her words, but Hermione pretended to ignore them, continuing on with a small shrug.

“How silly of me to think you’d want to replace that ugly tattoo with something different,” she said, reaching for a muffin and pouring herself a cup of tea. 

She didn’t even have the chance to stir in the milk she’d added before both Harry and Draco were up, tugging on her arms to pull her to her feet as well. She went willingly, laughing at their excitement. It was exactly the way she’d felt when she’d first found the passage that talked about changing a Mark.

“What do you mean, replace it?” Harry asked when they’d secured themselves an empty classroom where they could talk freely.

“Just what it sounds like,” she said, digging in her bag for the book. Technically, it wasn’t allowed to leave the library, but she didn’t imagine Madam Pince would mind in this case.

Harry and Draco leaned over her shoulder, scanning the text. It was written in an archaic dialect, the pages thin as onion skin and yellowed with age. Still, the illustrations made it abundantly clear that Hermione  _ had _ found a way to transform Draco’s Mark.

“You can’t remove it completely, and there are a few more parameters,” Hermione said, carefully shutting the book and returning it to her bag. “The tattoo may be larger but cannot be smaller than the existing Mark. You can’t move it, either. It has to stay where the original Mark was.”

Harry nodded, green eyes bright with excitement. He loved Draco and wasn’t bothered in the slightest by the Mark, but the ability to change it to something different – something that represented their love and not some madman’s symbol – was almost too good to be true.

He glanced over at the blond, who was still numb with shock. Draco had long ago accepted that the Mark was a permanent part of his life. He’d even come to like it, after finding out that it was a link to Harry rather than Voldemort. Still, the ability to change it – he shivered a bit with excitement, his swirling grey eyes lighting at the thought of being free from the reminder of the evil wizard.

“So, what do we do?”

***

Draco studied the picture of the dragon preening on the page, his brow furrowed dubiously.

“You want to change the Mark to this, all because there’s a rumor I have a tattoo of a dragon floating around school? A  _ dragon _ , Harry? Really?”

Harry nodded, pulling the book over to himself so he could rifle through the pages.

“Yes and no. The rumors – which say it’s a Hebridean Black, by the way – made me think about you having a dragon, but that’s not the one I’d choose for you. And I know, it’s a bit trite, you having a dragon of all things. But just look at it. I like this one, the Ukrainian Ironbelly. It’s perfect.”

He flipped the book around, showing Draco the image of the large dragon, with silvery grey scales that had the same startling depth as Draco’s eyes. It was beautiful, and looking at it made Harry think of the beautiful blond who would be wearing it. 

Hermione’s research had found that although they couldn’t move the Mark or make it smaller, they  _ could _ make it a different color. By choosing such a lightly colored dragon, Harry explained that he hoped the tattoo wouldn’t stand out so starkly against Draco’s pale flesh. He didn’t mind that Draco carried the Mark – actually, the thought of being an active participant in Marking Draco this time around made his heart speed with arousal – but he had on occasion wished it was easier for him to hide should he so choose. The light-colored dragon wouldn’t draw the amount of attention the Dark Mark did.

Draco’s original skepticism faded as Harry outlined his reasoning, a warm feeling of being cared for flooding though him at the thought of Harry choosing this particular image in an effort to make carrying the Mark easier for him. 

“Best of all, Dragons understand Parseltongue. I know Hermione thinks the Mark responds to it because the spell that gave it to you was done in Parseltongue and not because it’s a snake, but what if she’s wrong? I don’t want to lose this,” he said, slipping into Parseltongue on the last word.

Harry hissed softly, making the snake on Draco’s arm slither down his arm, wrapping itself around his wrist and squeezing rhythmically. Draco’s mouth went instantly dry at the implication – Harry had often used his Mark during sex, but never this blatantly. The possibilities had him hard in seconds.

“Ukrainian Ironbelly it is, then,” he said, his voice slightly strangled as Harry’s hand worked its way into his lap.

***

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Harry asked Hermione, looking up from placing crystals in a circle. 

Hermione had said the spell would work best if it was done in a place that had significant emotional meaning to both parties, and Harry and Draco had agreed that the meadow behind Hagrid’s hut fit the bill perfectly. The stones had been Hermione’s idea. They not only helped form a protective barrier around Harry and Draco, who would be focused on the spell and not their surroundings, but also strengthened the privacy wards Harry would erect before they started, ensuring that no one stumbled upon them. The last thing they wanted was Rita Skeeter blanketing the front page of the  _ Daily Prophet _ with photos of Harry performing a dark spell. 

He’d petitioned Kingsley for permission to do the spell, and the Minister had agreed with the caveat that they not tell anyone  _ how _ they did it. Harry had been more than happy to agree, since both he and Draco were intensely private and unlikely to share this moment with the public, anyway.

“Er, no. I may have, uh, left a few things out when I was telling you about the spell,” she said, a blush slowly creeping over her face. 

Draco snickered. Though she hadn’t told him, either, he’d been able to figure out what they’d be doing based on the precautions she’d advised them to take and the ritual robes she’d had Draco procure. Only one type of magic used robes like these, and he’d had several sets in the Malfoy Family vaults at Gringotts. Not that he wanted to imagine his ancestors using them.

“It’s sex magic, Harry,” he said, enjoying the way Harry’s eyes widened and Hermione’s blush darkened. “The robes? The crystals? The oils? Sex magic.”

She nodded, busying herself with arranging the oils they’d need later, studiously ignoring  _ why _ they would need them.

“It has overtones of the ancient branch of magic known as Connubium Magus, yes,” she said, fidgeting with the cork on the phial of almond oil. 

“That’s a fancy way of saying sex magic,” Draco mock whispered to Harry, who was also blushing.

Hermione took a deep breath, thrusting the phial she’d been holding into Harry’s hands.

“Fine. It’s sex magic. Which is why you need this,” she said, nodding to the red-stoppered phial. “It’s straight almond oil. The others are for anointing, but this one is for later –  _ after _ . Don’t use any of the others for that. Understand?”

Harry nodded, glaring over his shoulder at Draco, who was still snickering at their obvious discomfort. Hermione rolled her eyes, checking to make sure her notes on the spell were lying on the blanket before packing up the rest of her things and standing. 

“It shouldn’t be hard for you to translate that into Parseltongue, Harry. I transcribed the Latin into English for that part. The rest is in Latin, since you’ll need to cast in that.”

She stepped gingerly over the crystals Harry had placed, not making eye contact with either boy as she turned to leave. She’d known all along what they would have to do to complete the spell, of course, but knowing it was different from  _ knowing  _ it, standing there fully aware that they were naked beneath the dark purple robes they wore in the clearing she’d helped them prepare that would later be used for sex.

“Red-stoppered phial is lube, got it,” Draco smirked, turning serious after both Harry and Hermione choked out a laugh. “Thank you, Hermione. You’ve worked so hard on this.  _ Thank you. _ ”

She waved off his words, tucking her quill into the messy bun at the nape of her neck. Her part in the ceremony was finished, and now she’d head back in the dorm, anxiously awaiting their return. She doubted she’d see either of them before dawn, despite the fact that it wasn’t quite sundown yet. The amount of magic needed to manage the spell was enormous, and that, combined with the predictable effects of the sex magic, would likely leave them exhausted afterward. It was one of the reasons she’d insisted on the protection circle, since it would give them a relatively safe refuge to sleep and renew their energy afterward.

“I meant what I said yesterday,” Harry said, shooting her a crooked smile. He hadn’t understood why Hermione didn’t want to observe the ceremony, since it was integral to her thesis, but now it was clear why she wasn’t staying. “About the Pensieve memories. Of everything, if you need them.”

She shook her head, her blush rising again. 

“Just the ceremony itself,” she said, fidgeting with her necklace. “I’ll leave you to it. Good luck.”

They waited until the moon was rising through the twilight-colored sky before lighting the bonfire Hermione had helped them build. The firelight danced across their purple robes, the smoke spiraling into the lush darkness above them.

Harry looked down at their joined hands, giving Draco’s a reassuring squeeze.

“Ready?”

Draco swallowed and nodded, dropping Harry’s hand and fingering the fastener of his robes. The ceremony consisted of several intense rituals, and they’d have to do them perfectly for the spell to work. There would be no more talking until after his Mark was transformed, aside from chanting spells.

He shivered slightly in the cool night air as his robe slipped off his shoulders, pooling at his bare feet. He took a step closer to the now-roaring fire, letting the warmth surround him. Harry knelt in front of him, his own robe falling from his broad shoulders as he shrugged out of it, revealing tanned skin that shone like gold against the backdrop of flickering flames. 

Strong hands gripped Draco’s forearm, putting the Mark on display. Harry laid a hand over it, concentrating as he incanted the purification spell Hermione had helped him learn. All of the spells they were using were wandless, which, in light of what he now knew about the ritual being classified as sex magic, made a lot of sense.

“ _ Defaeco corium. Defaeco ossis. Defaeco cruor. _ ”

He bent his head, laying his lips over the Mark, which heated and writhed at his words and his touch. For the spell to work, Harry had to cleanse the Mark of all of Voldemort’s magical signature, which was what the ancient ritual they were now engaged in would do. The first wave, the spells he had just wandlessly cast, literally purified Draco’s skin, blood and bone. Next, he’d use a mixture of essential oils to anoint the purified skin, further eradicating any trace of Voldemort’s magic.

Not releasing Draco’s arm, he uncapped a phial of oil on the ground next to him one-handed, pulling the cork out with his teeth. He repeated the incantation over and over again, his voice rhythmic and mesmerizing, as he poured the carefully formulated mixture over the Mark.

The sharp tang of ginger made his nostrils flare, and he heard Draco hiss as the pungent oil began to seep into the skin of his forearm. Hermione had warned them that this wouldn’t be painless, though she had assured Harry it would not be anywhere near as painful as the original branding. Draco hadn’t cared, proclaiming that whatever the physical cost, it would be worth it to have the Mark transformed. Harry didn’t quite agree, but he trusted Hermione.

Now he wasn’t so sure, as he watched the cords in Draco’s neck pop, his jaw set tightly to prevent himself from crying out. Beads of sweat covered his forehead, his face and chest flushing as his body temperature rose. The arm in Harry’s grip became noticeably warmer, like Draco had a raging fever. 

Steady in his resolve, Harry simply held Draco’s forearm tighter as the blond began to shiver, his body wracked with shudders as his body reacted to the fever. When the Mark seemed to take on a life of its own, writhing violently against Draco’s skin, Harry uncorked the second phial, a mixture of angelica, eucalyptus, hyssop and juniper oils.

He continued his steady chant, his fingers digging so deeply into Draco’s forearm that bruises were already blooming. It was essential that Draco not move during the ritual, however, and Harry wasn’t willing to let all the pain he’d already experience be for nothing. They’d finish this, and then he’d spend the rest of his life making it up to the blond. He hated being the cause of Draco’s distress, but there was nothing for it.

The Mark sizzled almost inaudibly with the addition of the cleansing oils, and Draco bit back another moan of pain. His shudders stopped as the angelica took effect, the faintly pleasant smell of the eucalyptus masking the smell of burning flesh. Harry moved quickly, dropping the phial and using both hands to massage the oil into the Mark, helping it penetrate Draco’s skin. As soon as the tattoo stopped undulating, Harry tugged hard on Draco’s arm, forcing him to kneel with him. 

Grey eyes dulled by pain opened as soon as his knees hit the ground, locking on Harry’s. Draco resisted the urge to look down at his Mark, wondering if the flesh was as seared as it felt. Instead, he stared into Harry’s eyes, drawing strength from the love and determination he saw in them.

Harry let his gaze sweep down to Draco’s forearm, using the snake on his arm to switch seamlessly to Parseltongue. He felt Draco stiffen as he began to speak, and he hoped it was due to the strangeness of hearing Harry casting spells in Parseltongue rather than because his pain had worsened. Hermione had assured them the worst part would be the purification and cleansing rituals; the actual transformation of the Mark should merely be uncomfortable, not outright painful. 

Harry relaxed slightly when he felt the rigidity go out of Draco’s arm as the pain began to wane. He swallowed, continuing to command the Mark in words only he could understand. It seemed like a bunch of nonsense to him, but he trusted Hermione, and if those were the words she thought he should use, then he’d do it, as odd as it seemed to him.

The stilted, formal words rolled off his tongue with some difficulty, since Parseltongue was, on the whole, an informal language. The Parseltongue lexicon was about a fourth of its English counterpart, which meant Harry sometimes struggled for the right phrasing while trying to translate Hermione’s spell. Still, after several minutes of repeating the incantations, the Mark began to bend to his will, tendrils of ink breaking off and writhing independently.

Harry took a deep breath, pausing in his incantation as he met Draco’s eyes once more. For Draco, the hardest part of the ritual would be the pain; for Harry, it would be the Legilimency that he had to perform. Even with all of Draco’s Occlumency shields dropped in preparation, Harry knew it would be a struggle to enter the blond’s mind. They’d practiced this part for the better part of the last week, but Harry seemed to have a natural inclination  _ against _ Legilimency. Blaise, who had surprised Harry by taking over his training when Draco became frustrated with his lack of progress, had theorized it had to do with Harry’s deep-seated sense of fair play. Throughout history, he’d told Harry, very few Gryffindors had managed to become accomplished Legilimens. While that bit of trivia had done much to assuage Harry’s fears that he was an inadequate wizard for not being able to master the art, it didn’t do anything to help the current situation.

Harry tilted his head back, closing his eyes and centering himself. He focused on thoughts of Draco, of what he wanted to accomplish by entering his mind. With one more deep breath, Harry opened his eyes, staring unblinkingly into Draco’s. 

“ _ Legilimens _ ,” he cast, throwing every bit of his magical energy into the spell. He nearly fell as he felt the rushing sensation of entering Draco’s mind, tamping down on his euphoria at succeeding lest the thoughts cause him to lose his focus. 

Long seconds passed as Harry pushed images of the tattoo they’d agreed on, a stately looking Ukrainian Ironbelly with glistening silver scales and proud, glowing green eyes. In the wild, the dragons had red eyes, but Harry had liked the idea of Draco’s tattoo being a blend of the two of them. He didn’t dare break eye contact with Draco to check on the transformation; he knew there was no way he’d regain the connection if he allowed it to slip. As it was, it was taking all of his concentration to stay inside Draco’s mind, keeping the images he pictured at the forefront of both of their consciousnesses.

Draco could feel the ink twisting and slithering along the skin of his forearm. It didn’t feel that different from the way the Mark moved when Harry manipulated it during sex, but the residual pain thrumming through him from the cleansing ritual prevented his normal response. He concentrated on keeping his Occlumency shields wide open, welcoming Harry into his mind. He had no compunction about using Legilimency himself, but that just illustrated the fundamental difference between him and the dark-haired wizard. Although he was free to be himself now, no longer under the controlling shadow of his father or the Dark Lord, he was still a Slytherin at heart. He had no problem acting in his own interest, and as a skilled Legilimens, he relished in the power of being able to mold another person’s thoughts. Of course, he never trespassed without permission, finding himself quite reformed since the horrific events at the end of the war as well as his relationship with Harry, but knowing that he  _ could _ was a thrill. 

When the movements on his forearm ceased, Draco flexed his arm, letting Harry know the last phase of the ritual was complete. Harry withdrew from his mind quickly, blinking as he cleared his own head. He looked down when he heard Draco’s gasp, his own breath catching as he saw the beautiful silvery tattoo that stretched most of the length of Draco’s forearm, its tail teasingly wrapped around the blond’s wrist like a glistening, scaled bracelet.

Remembering Hermione’s instructions, Harry fumbled on the ground for the last phial of oils, a blend with clary sage that would ease the last of Draco’s discomfort and end the ritual. He poured it over the new tattoo, spreading the bitter-scented oil over the Mark. The dragon twitched slightly under his fingers, almost preening at his touch. Draco shivered as arousal swept through him, responding immediately to the calming properties of the oil paired with Harry’s touch.

Ritual ended, Harry sat back on his heels, feeling enormously drained by the wandless spells he’d been casting for the last half an hour. His exhaustion didn’t prevent his cock to twitch with interest when Draco straddled him, erection pressed against Harry’s belly, and captured his mouth in a rough kiss.

Draco’s body thrummed with energy, a feeling of euphoria heightening his arousal until it reached a point that neared painful. He rutted against Harry’s belly, his cock slipping easily against warm skin wetted by the precome that had leaked out of his slit. Harry groaned, parting his lips to deepen the kiss as Draco thrust his tongue into his mouth, a white-hot bolt of arousal shooting through him as Draco whimpered against his lips.

Though the ritual was finished and speaking was allowed, Harry had no words for how he was feeling at the moment. Love, arousal, elation, possession – what seemed like hundreds of feelings swirled through him, leaving him desperate to meld with Draco, to sink inside him until they were joined as one. He growled as Draco’s breathing sped up, not wanting the blond to crest without him. 

Eyes nearly black with lust, Harry flipped their position, pinning Draco to the cold ground as he covered his body with his own. He growled, nipping at the soft skin of Draco’s neck and making Draco buck up, frantically seeking the friction he’d lost when Harry moved them.

Acting purely on autopilot, Harry hissed out a rough command in Parseltongue. The dragon shuddered against Draco’s forearm, slithering up over his shoulder and then winding its way down his torso, coming to rest against his hip bone. Draco’s eyes widened as Harry hissed again, his heart slamming at the purely wicked look in Harry’s eyes. Seconds later, he felt the dragon’s tail wrap around the base of his erection, pulling tight, preventing him from coming even as he arched his hips and ground against Harry’s cock.

Harry swallowed the sound of Draco’s frustrated whine with a kiss, wandlessly Summoning the bottle of pure almond oil Hermione had left for them. He reared back, holding the phial to Draco’s lips so the blond could grasp the cork in his teeth. Instead of opening it, though, Draco licked the cool glass, his tongue darting out to slide along the phial. Harry groaned, the provocative sight going straight to his cock. He straddled Draco, sitting up to open the phial himself. Once he had it open, he poured the sweetly scented oil into his palm, smirking at Draco as he wrapped it around his own cock, pumping several times before Draco’s hand batted his away, long fingers sliding over the sensitive head and blunt thumbnail pressing against the slit. Harry pulled himself out of Draco’s grasp, coating his fingers in the oil that had pooled on Draco’s belly and reaching behind himself to press them against Draco’s puckered entrance.

Grey eyes slid shut as Harry massaged the sensitive flesh, stroking it teasingly before sliding two fingers inside, working them in up to his first knuckle before adding a third. Draco ground against his hand, forcing the fingers deeper as Harry roughly fucked his hole with his fingers. With the dragon’s tail still wrapped around his cock he could feel his arousal building past where he usually peaked, and he whimpered as the heat of his release continued to grow in his belly. 

His eyes flicked open when Harry removed his fingers, pink lips pressing together to hold back his groan as Harry pressed into him, his cock easing slowly into Draco’s tight heat until he was fully seated. Before he started to move, he brought his hand, still slicked with oil, around to stroke Draco’s erection, making the blond whimper again. Harry pistoned his hips in a few leisurely, teasing strokes before giving in to his own arousal and picking up the pace, pounding into Draco with almost brutal force that had Draco crying out with pleasure.

Harry’s hand moved faster against Draco’s cock, and just before his own orgasm overtook him, Harry hissed out another command to the dragon, which promptly released Draco’s cock. Thick spurts of come coated both their bellies as Draco came, his channel clenching around Harry’s cock and sending him over the edge as well. Neither noticed as the dragon made its way back to its perch on Draco’s arm, too caught up in the throes of their orgasms.

Harry collapsed against Draco as the last of his orgasm ebbed, his exhaustion returning twofold as his muscles quivered with exertion. He pressed a kiss against the side of Draco’s neck, rolling to the side so he didn’t crush the blond. 

Above them, twilight had given over to a crisp, starry night, and Harry marveled at the way the tiny pinpricks of light seemed to almost pulse along with his slowing heartbeat. Beside him, he could hear Draco’s harsh breathing, nearly in time with his own. He felt grounded, centered. At peace, both with the world and with himself _. _

“So, the Mark,” Draco said, breaking the silence with a chuckle. “At least we know it still responds to Parseltongue.” 

***

**June 1999**

Laughter bubbled in Draco’s chest as he watched Harry clobber Ginny, claiming the ribbon she’d had tied around her hair as his prize before jumping on his broom and taking to the air, the redhead hot on his heels. Draco mounted his own, leisurely following them. He no longer even had a moment’s hesitation before picking up his broom, a fact that filled him with elation. He had Harry to thank for that, as well as for his newfound ability to sleep more than a few hours at a time ad his general overall happiness. 

He leaned forward on his broom, putting on a burst of speed to catch up to the giggling duo. He tucked his head, protecting his face from the early summer breeze that was already making his cheeks pink with cold, since summer’s warmth came so late to their corner of Scotland. Far from feeling chilled, though, he felt exhilarated, warmed from the inside by the thrill of flying. 

Catching Harry’s eye, he swooped in, holding his hand out to grab the ribbon that was dangling from Harry’s outstretched fingers. Ginny shrieked in delighted fury, changing course to pursue Draco instead. He grinned, laughing along with Ginny as he gracefully swept into a dive, pointing his broom down and spiraling toward the ground. As the cold ground rushed up to meet him, he didn’t know even a single moment of fear. He pulled up short just before he would have crashed, his feet skimming against the still-brown grass to slow his descent. He hopped off the broom, letting it fall to the ground as he took off running, losing his breath when Ginny stopped her broom a meter above him and jumped off, tackling him. 

A year ago he would never have imagined he’d be wrestling on the grounds with a Weasley and enjoying it. Six months ago, he’d have been breathless from panic rather than joy at the thought of riding a broom. The changes Harry had brought about in his life were nothing short of amazing, and Draco marveled that he’d managed to do the same for the other boy. Watching Harry glide to a graceful stop in front of them, his eyes full of laughter, took the rest of his breath away. When the dark-haired boy pounced on Ginny, pinning Draco between her and the wet ground as he reached for the ribbon, Draco mused that this must be what true friendship felt like. What love felt like. It felt overwhelming. It felt right. It felt a lot like absolution. 


End file.
